


And Who By Fire

by Mikimoo



Category: DCU
Genre: Amputation, Brain Injury, M/M, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Dick and Jason are caught in an explosion that changes everything. Burdened with a shared sense of guilt and isolation, they are forced to rely on each other. Together they might heal. Or possibly just kill each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for iamjasonssmirkingrevenge – and is also all her fault.
> 
> Warnings include: Permanent injury, amputation, behavioral changes due to brain injury, bit of gore, dysfunctional relationships [big shock, I know] I will put any extras at the beginning of each chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to Sharon and Fabula Rasa for the beta!

There was a whining, beeping sound. It was familiar, like he had been listening to it forever. Then there was crackling, like static, and barely remembered words surfacing through the noise.

_Infection…. Traumatic injury… 15% chance…_

_… Mr. Wayne…_

Mr. Wayne. That sent pictures tumbling though his mind and feelings coursing though his body. He struggled to catch them, to hold them, but they spun away like wasps caught in the wind.

Then, later, there was a sensation of searching, of panic, like he had lost something and couldn’t remember what it was. 

Then there was swimming through the dark. 

It went on so long, he forgot himself.

 

He had been awake a while before he realized he could see. White-clad doctors, and the faint sent of familiar cologne. For a weird jarring moment he thought he had survived the explosion; the Joker. 

Then he remembered he hadn’t. 

This was some other fuck up, some new shit he had gotten himself into. He was muzzy with drugs, but his lower body hurt, a dull pain that made his breathing hitch.

“Hi Jason,” a bright, white gowned doctor said, her expression impossible to see behind her mask. “You’re in Gotham memorial.”

Jason blinked at her. He couldn’t remember how his voice worked, and his lungs felt tight, full of smoke and fire. 

“Please lie still, you’re in good hands!” She told him. “You're very brave, you saved the other young man’s life. Mr. Wayne was so grateful, he paid for all your treatment.” She checked his IV and studied the big blur next to him, which he assumed was a machine recording his vitals.

“You’ve beaten the odds so far, Jason, just hold on a little longer.” Her face looked warm, like she was smiling, her eyes kind and distant. 

Then he sunk back into the dark again - but this time he dreamed. He saw fire and blood, felt himself scream and inhale hot sparks. Saw the white hint of skull though flesh and skin.

 

“I’m not sure if I should hug you or pull the plug.” 

Jason blinked. The kid sitting opposite him was familiar- dark hair, light eyes and well formed thin lips, pulled tight and disapproving. But Jason couldn’t quite place him. He remained quiet, unsure of his situation. He just stared through his lashes, only half aware. 

“Bruce can’t handle losing the both of you, so you better pull though.” the kid said.

Jason stared some more and the kid stared back. He should know him, he should feel something about him. Instead he was blank. There was just a nagging anxiety behind the fuzziness of the drugs.

Another person was in the room – Jason hadn’t noticed, and that should have worried him, but he couldn’t summon the energy. He thought about trying to turn his head to see the intruder, but decided against it, he hurt too much to care.

“Come, Master Tim, leave the boy to rest.”

_Master Tim,_

_Tim Drake,_

_Replacement._

The name gave him a flood of memory and feeling, but he shook it off and slipped away from Drake’s tight-lipped expression.

 

The days continued, he hurt, the world was unreal, fleeting.

And then his mind started to sharpen, moments of clarity interspaced between darkness and dreams. He recognized his visitors; Tim came often, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, _Bruce_.

He was in pain, and his thoughts were tangled. But nothing prepared him for the jumbled return of his memories. 

 

He was asleep when they first came, the smell of cordite, and meth. Familiar and pleasant - full of the promise of retribution. 

And then, a flicker of color - Nightwing, pursuing a man over a roof, down onto the street and into the building.

The whole complex was going to blow. It was going to go up like fireworks. _Fuck_

He remembered that moment very clearly; _fuck._

Jason’s blood pumped, strong and fast, it felt toxic in his veins. 

Nightwing didn’t know it was going to go up, he didn’t realize the danger he was in, and he was going to die.

Jason may not have liked the guy much, but he wasn’t going to stand by and let him be blown up. 

He chased him into the building. 

Stupid, foolish, emotional response, he knew it was hopeless, knew he was going to die for the stupid golden boy.

Time moved slowly, the shiny flash of Nightwing’s suit, the green t-shirt of the dealer Dick had just chased into the building. The hard, grey concrete under Jason’s feet as he ran. He heard his voice, an empty echo in the force of the explosion that followed. It ripped through his body and mind, tossed him onto the floor like he weighed nothing and his ears rang even as he choked on the fumes. 

As he came back to himself, swimming through the strange silence that followed a blast, with blood running into his eyes, he cast about for this brother – and was pleased to see him still breathing. 

Dick was sprawled awkwardly against the wall, but he was alive, the fall of his chest visible as he struggled feebly to move. Jason clambered painfully to his feet and pushed though the smoke and debris to reach him. Stumbling the last few steps, he picked Dick's heavy ass up, and started hauling him towards the door. Dick’s head lolled against his arm, still knocked silly from the explosion, but his eyes were fluttering with the return of consciousness. 

_And then_. 

And then the second explosion hit.

_And Jason’s mind didn’t want to go further, didn’t want to see what had happened._

 

He had lost something, he couldn’t quite remember what. 

He was _burning._

A sensation of unreality, coupled with a very real shot of adrenaline.

Jason's legs were stupid and unresponsive. His pants and boots were melted onto his skin. He didn’t want to look at that, so he wiggled forward despite the impressively hideous pain in his lower extremities. 

_There was a whining, a strange dissociated noise._

_…..hes coding! …. Quickly…._

_…Have to prevent the infection from spreading…_

Then he saw Dick. He was lying by the entrance; he looked like a broken doll, limbs askew. And in the weird high-res vision that seemed to be plaguing him, Jason could see Dick’s skull.

Part of his face had been ripped off. 

He could see his brother’s _skull._

 

Jason’s eyes blinked open. 

The world spun and wove.

As his vision steadied, he knew his fever visions were memory, and he knew they were true.

Dick was dead.

And it was his fault.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m sorry Jason.” Bruce said.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” the pretty doctor said.

“Sorry son, is there any family I can call for you?” Commissioner Gordon. 

Everyone was pretty sorry about something. Sorry he had been blown up again? Sorry it was taking all his energy to just exist through a haze of fever and pain meds? 

Tim was next, and he just watched, an indescribable expression on his face. After a long pause of just staring at one another, Jason surprised himself by trying to speak.

“You come to say sorry too?” He croaked. His voice was rusty, and his seared throat felt like the flames were still licking it. 

“I came to say thank you.”

“For what?” Being blown up?

“Dick’s going to make it.” Tim said, and that couldn’t be right.

“Dead,” Jason grunted. “Idiot.”

Tim’s lips twitched up in a tiny smile. “No, you saved him, you brought him out – I don’t know how you did it, but without you he would have died.” 

That was good. He didn’t want Dick dead, didn’t want that flash of skull to be his last memory of him. He owed him a good kicking, after all. 

“Alive?’ he asked, he needed to be sure. 

“Yeah. It was touch and go for a while though - they lost him twice in the first week and he’s been in an induced coma since, but he’ll be brought out of it soon. He’s going to be OK, they think.”

“Good.” Jason was tired, all this talking and thinking was hard, but he had one more question “Tim?”

Caught in the act of getting up, Tim looked surprised to hear his first name. “Yeah?”

“Why’s everyone sorry?”

Tim looked shifty. “The doctor hasn’t spoken to you?” 

Jason felt a flash of irritation; it was like an old friend. _Obviously not, dumbass._

“Damn, someone should have spoken to you,” Tim muttered. “Goddamn it, Bruce”

Jason was surprised that Timbob was taking the Bat’s name in vain, but at the same time he realized how fucked up this apparently was for the ex-‘Boy Wonder the Third’. 

“Jason, the burns on your body, your legs...” Tim paused, his expression earnest and pained.

Jason felt the world spin. He’d felt the pain in his legs - he just hadn’t bothered looking since he woke up. Getting into a semi upright position had been a bit too much of an effort for him.

“Tell me, I can’t move to see.” Jason muttered. It was obvious that Tim was the bravest person in their family; he was the only one to be up front with him. “Tell me!” he snarled.

But even as he said it, he knew, and his heart clenched.

”You had severe burns to both legs; 80% to your left leg, 30% to your right.” He trailed off.

Jason made an effort to shift himself, to look. 

And he could suddenly feel the agony of burning again. He whimpered and lay back down. “How bad?” he hissed through the sensation.

“They tried to save both legs. They kept you under for a while, but things didn’t go so well. Most deaths after thermal injury are from infection or septicemia, you know.”

“Can you save the statistics and get to the part about me?” Jason growled, as he felt himself swimming through a sense of unreality. This couldn’t actually be happening to him. 

“You had a much better chance of survival if they amputated your left leg.”

“Who decided?” He knew the answer to that, but he had to hear it.

“Bruce discussed it with your doctors.”

“He’s not my guardian –” Jason struggled for breath, his throat was burning. “Not any more, Jason Todd is legally dead. Not adopted any more, no right to decide anything!”

Tim looked uncomfortable. “Is this what’s most important right now?”

“Yes!” Oh god, he was crippled, Bruce told them to _cripple_ him. Jason felt the world closing in on him, his vision was fading to gray at the edges. “How much?” he gasped, he had to know. He couldn’t be certain of what he could feel – they could both be gone for all he could tell. 

“Above the knee, I’m-“ he stopped before he could say it, but Jason heard it anyway: _I’m sorry, Jason._

“Anything else?” As if that wasn’t enough. Maybe Bruce decided to remove a few organs too.

“There will be a lot of scar tissue to contend with, if you keep your right leg.”

_“If!?”_

“There is still a risk, form a secondary infection, in fact most patients who have suffered third or fourth degree burns, who die as a result of infection usually pass-”

“Stop!” Jason snarled at him - stupid geek boy and his statistics and encyclopedic knowledge. If he could fight half as well as he could think, Jason was sure he would have to put a bullet through his big fat brain to stop him taking over the world. 

The feeling of vaguely affectionate animosity was actually comforting, and he took a calming breath. 

“How bad will the scaring be? Will it restrict movement?” his voice was slurring. He hadn’t been awake so long since he arrived at the hospital.

“It’s going to be pretty bad - the lower portion on the right leg and the, um, upper thigh on the left. Also, some burns to your abdomen and lower back, but not as severe.” Tim was fidgeting; he was probably breaking orders to even have this discussion.

“Just tell me one more thing?” Jason asked. 

Tim nodded at him, sincere and focused as always. 

“Is my junk OK?”

Tim boggled at him for a moment. “Err, yeah, as far as I know.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Jason muttered, and he let the darkness tug him under again.

 

“It’s a miracle either of them survived the blast.”

Jason woke slowly, words filtering into his dreams. It was easier to focus now, easier to regulate his breathing and fain sleep. Easier to eavesdrop.

“Do you have any further information on what caused the explosion?” That was Bruce. He had to know the answer, had to be keeping cover.

“Someone was running some sort of meth lab out of the buildings basement.” That was commissioner Gordon. “We think it blew by accident, but it could have been rigged, maybe primed to go up if it was disturbed. Your boy is a cop after all - I assume he was investigating on his down time?”

What a convenient explanation for Dick’s presence. Jason had to wonder what they had concocted for him. 

“How is the boy? What’s his prognoses?” Gordon asked after a moment, his voice soft and sympathetic – they were still talking about Dick then, obviously.

“They wont know until he wakes; they think it’s likely he will, but the amount of damage from the blast could be significant. He will need cosmetic surgery to fix him up, although they tell me it shouldn’t be that complicated.”

“Bruce...”

Bruce sighed, sounding haggard. “The impact was to the front of the skull, there could be damage to his frontal lobes, but it’s possible there could be injury to other areas too. Full recovery depends on how severe that damage is.”

Jason wasn’t worried. Dickie had a hard head, he was more likely to freak out over the facial reconstruction stuff than a stupid head wound. 

“...And young Mr. Smith?” Gordon said, picking up jasons chart.

Bruce could have chosen a more interesting name for him, seriously. 

Gordon patted Jason's arm gently. “There was originally some confusion weather he was a victim or a perp, but it seems his injuries were inflicted by him running _into_ the building as it exploded, and exacerbated by him attempting to pull Dick to safety. I think that makes him a hero.”

“I guess it does” Bruce said quietly and Jason felt something tenuous and fragile shatter in his chest. 

He _wasn’t_ a fucking hero.

“Poor kid. I can’t find his people, he just blinks at me - in shock, I’m told. Although young Tim seems to have held a conversation or two with the boy, but he says he can’t give me any information either.”

“Has he indeed,” Bruce said, and Jason could detect a slight edge to his voice. He didn't envy Tim the inevitable chat he was going to be having with Bruce.

“I intend to pay for his treatment and rehabilitation – what ever the cost. Its the least I can do,” Bruce said, and Gordon hummed approvingly. 

The door whooshed open, and then closed as one of them left. There was silence and Jason kept his eyes shut and his breathing even. There was a soft touch on his hair, and a faint waft of Bruce's cologne. 

“I’m going to make this right, Jason.” Bruce said softly.

“Go fuck yourself.” Jason said, without opening his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

The days were long.

True to his word, Bruce had arranged the best treatment money could buy. But the process was slow, and varied between frustrating and excruciating. Jason supposed he should be grateful his right leg appeared to have been saved, and that Bruce hadn’t asked the doctors to harvest his organs or remove a few fingers. 

The skin grafts had taken well, and he had been assured that he had a 75% chance of living a happy long life with a prosthetic limb, and enough scars to put Harvey Dent to shame. 

He nagged the truth out of Tim though. The scarring could affect his range of movement, and it could limit the use of his ‘good’ leg without careful watching. Even so, his prognosis was better than it would have been if he hadn't been under Bruce’s care. Unsurprisingly, it still made him feel like shit. 

One of the weirdest things was knowing there was a bit of him missing. It made him break out in a cold sweat to think that part of his body was somewhere else – no doubt destroyed now. It gave him a creeping, raw feeling in his belly when he thought about it. Maybe it was a way for his mind to rationalize his feelings over the loss? Maybe he was just an idiot. Who knew?

 

Tim and occasionally Alfred were his only visitors – he wanted to ask Tim why he came at all, was it because he had saved Dick, or because Bruce clearly didn’t want him there? Either way, although he would rather lose the other leg than admit it, he was glad of the little shit's company. His dry sarcasm and honesty were a relief after the obnoxious happy faces his doctors were paid to give him. 

Tim’s visits also meant he could keep abreast of Dick’s progress – when he wasn’t wallowing in his own misery, he wallowed in guilt over Dick’s injuries. Tim had been the most animated Jason had seen him, when Dick had woken up for the first time. He had been optimistic about Dick’s facial wound too – apparently he had sat in with Bruce when they spoke to the plastic surgeon, and she had assured them the scarring to his face would be minimal once he was well enough to undergo the surgery. 

Jason had even laughed when Tim told him they had shaved Dick’s head – he couldn’t imagine it and he was sure there would be a temper tantrum when Dick realized his new look was an imitation of Lex Luthor. 

 

But as days stretched into weeks, Tim stopped his excited Dickiebird, fanboy chatter. If he mentioned him at all it was only brief and at Jason’s prompting – _Yeah, he’s doing fine._

It was starting to worry him. And really, it was nice to shake things up a bit, with a spot of worrying; even self-pity got boring after a while. 

 

“How did you like the books I brought you?” Tim asked one lazy Wednesday, or was it a Friday? Monday?

“Sparkly vampires, right up my street, thanks for that, Tom.” 

“I’m not going to bring you any books on your list until you call me by my proper name—” 

“You can have your vampire books back now, Ted, I corrected all the spelling and grammatical errors, and given you some pointers for better story-telling.” Jason grinned nastily, and nodded towards the pile of books by his bedside. “If you insist on writing under a pseudonym, at least get an editor.” 

Tim didn’t rise to the bait, but he did pick up the top volume and flick through it. He let out a huff of a laugh – Jason hadn’t been kidding, there were notes in all the margins.

“I was thinking of giving them to Damian for his birthday, but I’ll have to buy him a new set – don’t want to spoil him with good writing.”

Jason smirked, “Get him the movies too, that will be a treat – I’m sure they’ll hear the wrathful screams all the way in Metropolis.”

They sat in companionable silence, while Jason thought how to phrase the question that had been preying on his mind. 

“What’s wrong with Dick?” he blurted. Fuck it—direct was the Jason Todd way to get shit done. It was about time he questioned Tim’s sudden reticence.

“How do you mean?”

“Don’t start lying to me now, Boy Wonderless.”

Tim looked conflicted, like he wasn’t certain of his answer. Jason wasn’t sure if that was out of fear of breaking Jason, or both of them with the truth.

“He’s not himself,” Tim allowed eventually, looking at his hands.

“Explain?” Jason asked, none too gently.

“He’s not doing so well.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Jason all but snarled. There was a tight knot of fear welling in his chest. “Is he dying?” 

“No.”

“So what?”

Tim rubbed at his eyes, and Jason couldn’t help noticing the kid looked exhausted.

“The impact was to the front of his skull, there is damage to the frontal lobes, and the blast shook his brain up pretty bad.”

“How bad is bad?”

“We don’t know yet, he can talk, but he’s still confused and emotional, he’s frustrated with being in the hospital, he’s angry.” 

“Angry how? Jason asked. This was going to be a slow process of extracting information, clearly.

Tim looked miserable and averted his eyes. “Bruce wouldn’t let him get out of bed and Dick threw a book at him – but he was so uncoordinated he hit himself in the face with it.”

Jason winced; that couldn’t have been pleasant.

"Then Dick - he just, he started crying. It was. . . I don't know how to describe it."

“Well it must have fucking hurt,” Jason couldn’t help pointing out. 

“It was awful, Dick was yelling at Bruce to fuck off, and Bruce didn't look like he knew what to do. He looked really upset."

Jason raised an eyebrow in polite disbelief.

“Well, upset for Bruce, anyway.” Tim amended before continuing, “and Damian was there, and I hate the little punk, but he looked so lost and confused.” Tim met Jason’s eyes, and he seemed kind of lost and confused too. 

Tim cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Damian was watching, so I tried to calm Dick down, I tried to reassure him, but he stabbed me with his IV needle.”

“Seriously?” Jason boggled at him. Dick would rather cut off a limb – oh the irony – than hurt his darling, baby brother bat.

Tim rolled up his sleeve to show the wound, which was kind of pathetic – although Jason wasn’t so dumb that he didn’t understand the real, emotional nature of the injury. 

“I’m going to have to put my wise old uncle Jay hat on for you now.” Jason smirked at him. He was a long way from hating the replacement at this point, and he had a nagging urge to make him feel better. Maybe he had a traumatic brain injury too.

“You’re not my uncle, you’re my brother.” Tim said crisply. And just like that, those three words knocked the snark right out of him: _you're my brother_

“Yeah” Jason managed, “yeah, well people with head injuries are often confused or disoriented at first.”

“It’s been a month and a half.”

That made his brain short out, that long? “Whatever,” he managed. “The point is, that we’re not normal people. Dick has been trained since childhood to protect himself, though any means – protect himself, protect the rest of us. And being disoriented, feeling threatened, he’s gonna lash out, he’s not going to adjust well, not as good as a civilian in many ways.”

He was right, he knew he was, but he was also grasping at straws. He had no idea what the damage was, no clue how permanent or debilitating it was going to be. He hadn’t counted on this potential level of damage, and hadn’t really been prepared to flounder this deeply in guilt. 

The possibility he had destroyed something fundamental in Dick hadn’t even occurred to him, and there was a sick, squirmy feeling in his belly.

"He’ll be fine.” He offered, and he hated the uncertainty in his voice. 

Tim just looked at him, pale blue eyes older and more knowing than they should be. 

“Jason—” 

“No, Wonder Brat, there’s no proof he’s going to stay like that.” Jason said. He’d researched this shit, after Talia and the Pit, he’d attempted to puzzle though the gaps in his memory with medical textbooks. “It's just normal confusion after a head injury. He'll get better. He will." He hoped he sounded like he knew what he was talking about.

“Careful, Jason.” Tim smirked half-heartedly at him, “or I’ll start to think you’re as wise as you think you are.”

The little prick. “Watch it,” Jason said, only half joking, “or I’ll stab you with my good drugs needle, and then you’ll be sorry.” He paused. “And happily full of narcotics.”

Tim scrunched his nose, clearly not intimidated, but he seemed pleased by the banter. Jason was too; it helped him cope: with his situation, with his self-pity, and now his guilt. 

Jesus, he needed out of here. He needed to see Dick, to gauge how bad it was. He needed to be independent again, he needed it like a starving man needed food. In a week, he was going to have an appointment to discuss having a prosthetic fitted. It was a horrifying thought, but it was a crapload better than being trapped.

He vowed that as soon as he was mobile, he would check in on Dick, and then he was gone from this place He had a safe house he could hole up in until he needed to move on.

Just one more week.


	4. Chapter 4

Physiotherapy was a bitch. In fact, the process of recovery was proving more painful and aggravating than the injuries themselves. 

The scar tissue on his stump - and _God_ how he hated that word, and the sight of it – the tissue was proving fragile, and the fitting for his prosthetic had been delayed again and again. 

On the upside, he had almost become used to the fact that a nurse would rub cream into his skin twice a day. Almost. There was still something utterly humiliating about having cream rubbed on his ass by a stranger, but he preferred that to the constant care for his _stump_. 

He hated it. It was stupid to feel personally betrayed by a part of his body that didn’t even exist anymore, but he couldn’t help himself. And on the subject of bodily betrayal, the rest of him seemed to be on a slippery slope. Since his Robin days, he had grown into a big man, something that pleased him greatly. But he hadn’t realized how much the healthy muscle mass he had built up with his training and lifestyle meant to him. His bulk and strength had been a shield, a defense for the scrawny kid who’d had to bite and scratch his way from the bottom. Jason wasn’t a fool; that kid was still a part of him, and lying flat on his back for two months had brought him close to the surface. His loss of muscle tone made him feel vulnerable. Hell, his inability to walk across the fucking room made him feel vulnerable and he _hated_ it.

He was indulging in a fit of self-pity when Bruce came to see him. This afforded him the opportunity to indulge in a fit of rage instead – a welcome relief. Bruce looked like he had aged twenty years. There were dark circles under his eyes and tight lines around his mouth.

“Jason,” he said in greeting.

Jason threw a sparkly vampire book at him, but he was weak and out of practice and Bruce batted the book aside with a concise, abrupt movement. 

“I wont bother you long, Jason,” Bruce said. Apparently they were going to ignore the book throwing, and that made Jason feel childish, which was awesome. 

Bruce looked him full in the face, something he’d avoided the last few times they had been forced to interact in the hospital. “I wanted to let you know I have invited in a specialist from Switzerland. She’s a leader in her field and I hope she will be able to design a prosthetic that will suit your needs.”

“My needs? I need for this to have not fucking happened!” Jason burst out, he was horrified to realize he was on the edge of tears, so he swung from defense straight into attack. “How’s Dick?” he asked, and if he was honest with himself he wasn’t sure if it was curiosity, concern or cruelty that made him ask. 

Bruce’s jaw tightened slightly, and he seemed to fight within himself for a moment. “Physically, he is healing well,” he said at last.

Jason leapt on the evasion. “And mentally? Emotionally?”

Bruce shot him a tense look. It took someone that knew him well to see his underling distress. “Not good. He is undergoing an intense recovery régime, to help with his coordination and memory issues. Like you, he is finding it frustrating.”

Jason looked at his blanket-clad knee and tried to convince himself he was all out of fucks to give. 

“Jason,” Bruce began awkwardly. “I know you are angry with me, but I made the decision to save your life, and I don’t regret that.” 

“And it came with the added benefit of crippling me and getting me out your hair for good.”

Bruce let out a frustrated noise; it was a sound Jason had always wrung from him, even as a kid. It made him _ache_. 

“Jason, I don’t want you 'out of my hair,' I want you alive and as well as can be expected.”

That felt like a jab at his mental health, and Jason glowered. 

Bruce stared back, unwavering. “I want you well and happy,” he amended after a moment. “I will do everything in my power to make it happen.” 

Jason’s fingers clenched in the thin bedclothes. “And what’s brought on this change of heart?” he asked sweetly. “Could it be because I did you a favor and saved the life of your darling golden boy?” The words burnt his mouth as he said them, tendrils of guilt stoking the fire of his anger. 

“It was a very brave thing you did Jason, and yes, I am incredibly grateful to you for saving Dick’s life.” 

And holy shit, the Bat didn’t _know_. He hadn’t found any evidence, had barely even seemed suspicious that Jason had triggered the explosion - that he was responsible for both his own and his brother’s injuries. A torrent of emotion welled up in him, bubbling under his skin. The feelings were so vast and uncontrollable they burst out of him in almost incoherent rage and shouting. He struggled on the bed, thrashing about like a man possessed - all the fury, the fear, the self loathing and the _guilt_ spilling out of him. 

It was cathartic and terrifying. He had a temper, he was used to it. But the wild lack of control was frightening.

He wished he could cross the room and punch Bruce, kick and break him, and he wished Bruce would hold him and comfort him, with his huge imposing presence – chase away the shadows and the pain as he had when Jason had been a furious child of thirteen. 

Instead an agitated nurse stuck a needle into his arm and the world went fuzzy and faded to black. 

 

When he woke, the ward was dark, and quiet as it ever got in the hospital. Jason felt like shit, his throat was raw from yelling, and his injuries ached. Having a full-body temper tantrum was apparently not appreciated by his healing wounds. He was also experiencing conflicting feelings – on one hand he felt like a complete fool for his meltdown, as it was embarrassing and pathetic. On the other, the release of all that emotion, although leaving him drained, also felt like a hard, painful boil had been lanced. 

He spent a few moments blinking at the ceiling, trying to sort through what was left of his feelings and defenses. He knew Bruce had saved his life, he knew that, but he also couldn’t help being mad about it. 

Jason let out a long sigh and tried to shove himself into a more upright position. His back was itching, the scarring uncomfortable and tight. 

Now fully awake, he suddenly realized he was not alone in the room. “Holy mother of fuck!” His voice went up an octave or two, to a pitch he wasn’t aware he was even capable of. 

Dick was curled in the chair opposite the bed. He was staring at Jason with wide, dark eyes, and Jason’s emotions got all tangled up again. 

As he attempted to get his breathing back under control he gave his brother a quick once over. Dick’s hair was growing back, it was a thick dark stubble over his scalp. The wound on his face was still angry-looking, even in the dim light, but it was better than Jason had thought it would be. 

“Dick?”

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Dick said. He unwound from his hunched position on the chair and staggered as he attempted to get to his feet. Jason had never seen Dick move so awkwardly. It made him feel unsettled, like there was something fundamentally wrong with the universe. 

“They wouldn’t let me come and see you.” Dick reached for his hand and Jason let him take it, still shocked to see him after all these weeks. “I didn’t do anything to deserve what you gave up to save me, Jason.” His face screwed up, making the angry red scar twist, and Jason realized with horror that his brother was crying. “I’m sorry Jay,” he said again.

“It’s ok, Dick,” Jason muttered, “you would have done the same for me.” He patted at Dick’s hand like a moron. He wasn’t cut out for this crap, and part of him wanted to yell at Dick, like it was his fault, and that Jason should have just left him to burn. 

A few years ago that sort of thinking would have frightened him, but he knew himself well enough now to know that he was lashing out in anger and frustration. It wasn’t Dick’s fault though, and this whole situation was painful and stifling and he felt like his nerves were raw and exposed. 

Dick had always been an emotional man, quick to show both anger and affection, but he was also a Son of the Bat and he had been brought up to try and bottle that shit up. Seeing him cry was awful, but being the cause of it was even worse. Jason would rather have a hundred debridement baths than have to deal with this. What the hell could he say? I’m sorry you got half your brains knocked out? I’m sorry you feel guilty for something you didn’t do? I’m sorry that actually this is all my fucking fault?

Instead, Jason said nothing. He let Dick cry and hold his hand in a weak but desperate grip. 

 

“He wants me to move into the manor, so I can be looked after properly,” Dick said. Having recovered from his crying jag, he had shoved Jason over and was now sitting beside him on the bed, shoulder to shoulder. It was probably the closest they had been to each other, outside of combat, since Jason died. 

“Sounds reasonable,” Jason said.

Dick shot him a look. “Are you kidding me ? I love the guy, I would die for him in a heartbeat, but living with him again? We wouldn’t last a week!” 

“Bullshit, you would lap up the attention and you know it,” Jason groused. Dick kept touching his blanket-covered stump, like he was just checking if maybe it had grown back in the past five minutes. It was making Jason uncomfortable, but everything made him uncomfortable these days, so he let it go. 

Dick sighed. “I get mad at him, over stupid stuff that was over with an age ago, hurts that are years old. It just bubbles up in me and I say awful things.”

“He just brings that out in folks,” Jason muttered.

“Yeah, none of us are easy to live with.” Dick touched his leg again, just above the bandages. “I yelled at Tim for trashing my bike.” 

Jason gritted his teeth and rolled with the change of direction. “Yeah? When did that happen? I hope he’s not joining us in the Bat Family hospital reunion.”

“Chasing and failing to catch John 'Bad Boy' Boyce.”

“Dude, Boyce has been in Black Gate for like, five years.”

“But it was my bike!” Dick snapped.

And yeah, he could see what Tim was taking about when he said Dick was emotionally unstable. It must be wearing hard on all that hero worship Tim had going on for his big brother. Jason was glad he had gotten over that shit and moved on to general disappointment in his whole family. Much easier to deal with. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” Jason asked mildly.

Dick shrugged. “Yeah, but it feels genuine, I feel like someone scooped out some of my brain and poured something volatile and fucked up in there instead.”

“You’re pretty articulate for someone with brain damage.”

“My speech was unaffected. My motor skills are not doing so great though.”

“At least you can fucking walk,” Jason couldn’t help pointing out.

Dick touched his leg again and this time Jason caught his fingers. “Stop fucking touching it.”

Dick looked at him and then down at Jason’s thigh, like he hadn’t been aware he had been doing it. “Sorry Jay.” He withdrew his hand from Jason’s and fisted it in his lap. 

The sat in silence for a while, before Dick started giggling. Jason had heard him laugh plenty of times before, but giggles were a new one. He tried not to freak out about it.

“It’s not all bad, at the next Wayne Fancy Dress Charity Gala, you could always be Long John Silver.” 

Jason couldn’t hold back a grin. He wondered if Dick knew how much he had loved that book as a kid. He suspected he did, and despite Dick’s fluctuating emotions and unstable behavior, that made some of the crushing weight in his chest shift – he was still _Dick_."

“Does that mean I have to get a parrot?” Jason asked, and Dick smiled up at him. 

“Yeah, you have to name it Bruce, in mockery of your last captain.”

“That would go down well,” Jason snorted. 

Dick touched his thigh again. “I don’t think I can make it all the way back to my ward, is it ok if I stay?” he asked. 

The leg touching was a problem; it was obviously a _thing_ for Dick, but he wasn't going to kick Dick out after he had bat-ninja'd though the whole hospital to see him. “Sure,” he said after a moment. “But no poking my leg, ok?”

“Sorry.”

“People are going to worry about you when they find your empty bed.” There would be _mayhem_. 

Dick shrugged. “Do you care?”

“Good point, now shut up and go to sleep.”

Dick snuggled down on his side of the bed, fingers brushing Jason’s leg again. “Night, Long John,” he said.

“Night, moron.”


	5. Chapter 5

The morning following Dick’s visit went rapidly downhill. Jason was awoken by Damian climbing onto the bed and glaring at him with the power of a thousand really pissed off suns. Like the rest of the Bat clan, he wasn’t looking his best, he seemed tired and stressed – and baleful. 

The Demon Brat transferred his angry stare to Dick, who was face down on top of the covers. Jason poked his stubbly head, and he grumbled as he woke. But he smiled when he saw Damian.

“Hey little D,” Dick said. He tried to ruffle Damian’s hair, but missed and poked him in the eye instead. Damian snarled and batted away his brother’s hand. Dick blinked down at his fingers; he looked both angry and betrayed by his body’s inability to do what he wanted. 

“Father is having a fit over this, Grayson!” Damian snapped, his words tight and clipped. “Your behavior is erratic and irresponsible!”

It was like a switch had been flipped. “Irresponsible! Don’t tell me about irresponsible, you little shit!” Dick yelled into the boy’s face. And yep, Jason had just officially fallen into the twilight zone. Dick lunged for Damian, and Jason caught his fist before it could land. Dick responded by elbowing him in the stomach, which hurt like hell. 

Damian leapt down from the bed and stormed for the door. Jason caught sight of his expression – hurt, anger and confusion, and he really felt for the kid. Dick had been a solid unwavering presence in his life, offering love and support no matter what. Now Jason suspected it was going to be Dick who needed unconditional love, and that was going to be tough for his family to adjust to. 

Not Jason, though yeah, it was shocking and kind of upsetting. But Dick’s lack of brain-to-mouth filter was also kind of funny. His brutal, angry honesty was sort of refreshing, in a potentially traumatizing way. So he pet Dick’s buzz cut and let him fume himself out. Dick pushed his face back into the bedding, his body trembling slightly under Jason’s hands.

“I don’t know what to do,” Dick said finally, his voice muffled by the pillow.

And Jason realized Bruce wasn't the only one Dick wanted to avoid living with. Some part of him knew how hard this was on the kid, how much it was going to shake the foundations of his life and family. He still wanted to protect him - all of them, even from himself. 

“We’ll figure something out Dickie,” Jason said. “You can learn to control it, I’m sure. You just need some time.”

Dick lifted his head just long enough to give Jason an incredulous look. “Are you seriously giving me advice on anger management? You?”

“Who better?” Jason smiled, sweetly and insincerely. 

“Huh, I always assumed you were… you know.”

“Actually, I don’t know.”

“Mentally ill or something.” Dick shrugged. 

“Gee thanks, Dick, your faith in me is _astounding_ as always.”

Dick rolled over and smiled at him a warm, genuine expression. “I have faith in you Jay, I truly do.”

Jason stared at him, confused emotions beating at his chest. He was getting kind of sick of feeling conflicted and unsure. It was time for action – he was good at action, and he owed it to Dick to do what he could. 

“We’ll sort something out, promise,” he said. 

There was a noise echoing up the corridor; by the sound of it was probably Bruce, a horde of doctors and possibly the national guard. Later he would think of a plan, once the yelling had died down. 

 

As it turned out, the way for Jason to focus himself, to move past his horror and misery at his own situation, was to concentrate on helping Dick. The first step was to gain influence over Bruce. Batman was the most stubborn man on the planet, and hitting him head-on, although somewhat satisfying, tended to get you nowhere. As far as he was concerned, Dick was going back to the manor, end of story. Of course, Dick was useless in persuading him otherwise, because his outbursts and tantrums just convinced Bruce of the rightness of his decision. 

Tim was his best option for assistance. He was a smart boy, logic and hard facts should convince him.

“Your move, Dolores,” Jason said, gesturing to the board by his bed. 

Tim pursed his lips before moving his bishop. Although inviting his replacement to play chess had just been a way to casually start a conversation, he had become invested in the game — it was a matter of pride now. Tim was good — a strategic player who could plan many moves ahead, even better than Jason could – and it was one of Jason’s major talents. What leveled them up was Jason’s unpredictability in his game: he took risks that Tim couldn’t always predict. It was fun, and fiercely competitive. 

So much so that all of Jason’s planning went into the game and he just blurted out the real reason he had invited Tim over for a talk. “Dick can’t go live with Daddy at the manor.” He said. He was going to have to sacrifice a bishop of his own, damn it.

“Why not? He needs care, until he is settled, and it’s better than the hospital.”

Jason gave him an incredulous look, but Tim was intent on the game. “You’re kidding, right?”

Tim made a face but didn’t answer, instead reaching for a piece on the board.

“Earth to Tim!” Jason snarled. And Tim looked up at him in surprise.

“You remembered my name, I’m impressed.” 

“I know this shit is hard, but I’m serious, if he goes back it will be a disaster.”

Tim finally seemed to register the seriousness of what he was saying, and pushed aside the game. “How do you mean?” he asked. 

“His behavior is hard on you, right?”

Tim nodded.

“It’s hard on you and frankly it’s more than those other two morons can cope with.” 

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but Jason held up a hand. “Dick is so many things to you guys: brother, friend, son, partner, pain in the ass, whatever. You have expectations of him, and he can't live up to them anymore. It hurts you, but it hurts him too.”

“You’re saying we aren’t going to be able to cope?” Tim asked. “You do remember who Bruce is, right?”

“Yeah, do you? He’ll deal with it the best he can, but he’s going to suck at it. When he hurts, he hardens and withdraws, and Dick needs him flexible right now.”

Tim was looking at him with the most intense and inscrutable expression. “They really underestimate your insight, don’t they?” he asked after a long moment.

Jason snorted. “No shit Sherlock, Bruce finds it hard to look at me rather than my alter ego, because the fact I changed messes with his head. The fucking fool.” Jason clamped down on his anger. He wanted Tim on his side, not convinced he was an angry lunatic. 

Tim tapped his lips with one finger. “I think you are misjudging him a bit there. You’re right about his behavior, but not his reasons.”

“Whatever, Dick is the issue we’re discussing!” Jason cut in; he was so not going to have the Bruce conversation with the _replacement_ of all people. 

“Ok,” Tim said placatingly. “I see what you mean. Dick needs a calm, steady environment with a strict routine, according to his doctors. And he will not get that while fighting with Bruce.”

“And Damian,” Jason broke in. “The demon spawn found us after Dick’s disappearing act – they argued, and Dick tried to hit him. He was pretty upset about it after.”

“It must be tough for the little punk,” Tim mused, and Jason couldn’t help a spark of amusement. He wasn’t the only Robin bitter at being replaced. 

“And it’s tough on Dick knowing he’s hurting his brother.”

“Ok, the issues you’re bringing up have merit, but what’s the alternative? Home help? With our lives? It would be a huge risk, unless it was Alfred.”

Jason smirked at him. “The rest of you would starve and you know it.” 

Tim smiled. “True. I’ll think over the possibilities, so we have something solid to present to Bruce – he’s going to be tough to convince.” That decided, Tim turned back to the game and reached out to move a piece. “Check,” he said, with a tiny twist of a smile.

“God fucking damnit!” If he hadn’t started the conversation himself he would have thought Tim was distracting him on purpose.

 

While Jason was putting operation Save The Morons From Themselves into action, he was also, finally, being fitted for his prosthetic. Dr. Hertz was a no nonsense woman in her mid-fifties, and Jason liked her immediately. Her brisk manner was a breath of fresh air when compared to the regular staff, who were being paid extra to be super-duper nice to him even when he was behaving like a shit. 

His new leg was uncomfortable at first, and he was informed he would have to attend many practice sessions along with this fucking Physio. Still, independence was only weeks away and it gave him strength. 

As well as his first prosthetic leg, he was also given crutches and instructions on how to help himself after a fall.

“Learn to crawl,” Dr Hurtz told him, in her clipped accent. “You will be grateful for it if you find yourself naked on the bathroom floor after a tumble.”

Jason balked at the idea. “You mean practice crawling like a dog?” he snapped.

She turned her calm brown eyes on him. “You can if you want. I would choose a cat personally, as they do not take any crap.”

Jason really liked Dr. Hertz. 

 

“I have found a suitable apartment,” Tim announced. His voice was a bit loud and stuff, but that was only to be expected: Bruce was standing next to him, and they were both staring down at Jason. It was Show Time. Jason breathed deeply, knowing he needed to stay calm for this conversation. Losing it wouldn't help Dick, and in truth, the skill he had found in working with his prosthetic over the past week had buoyed his confidence. He could face Bruce in a rage, no problem. Tim cleared his throat. “A penthouse, with a lift," he continued. "I think Dick will appreciate the view.”

Jason nodded encouragingly. A view was good, and hopefully Bruce’s money would also afford Dick a lack of nosey neighbors.

Bruce rolled his shoulders as though preparing for battle, and shot Tim a quick glance that Jason couldn’t quite decipher. “I have arranged for staff to see to any additional needs once a day to start with, but they will be on call 24/7 as will Leslie, who has agreed to take over primary medical care.”

“That’s nice,” Jason said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice, “but don’t you think it would be good to have a bit more supervision? As much as I think the idea is good, I don’t think he’s ready to be left to his own devises. I mean, he can’t even get dressed without help.”

Bruce stared at him like he was mad. But without even shifting his expression, Tim started to radiate Pure Evil. Jason could actually _feel_ it and a shiver ran down his spine. “What have you done, Wonder Brat?” he said evenly.

“Dick isn’t the only one who can’t get dressed without help, Jason.”

“Fuck you!”

“You will have separate rooms and bathrooms, you just have the living space and kitchen that you have to share. And it's not forever; once you are able to get around unaided and without difficulty, you could go back to your own place if you wanted.” 

Oh he should have seen this coming, the sneaky, conniving little shit. Jason glared at them both. 

Bruce had his brow furrowed like he was trying to work out a complex puzzle, “Tim said you were concerned, and that you volunteered to keep an eye on Dick. It seemed like an adequate compromise. As we felt that it would be best for him and our family, if the person in charge of his day-to-day care was also familiar with the more... complex part of our lives.” 

That made sense, although Jason wanted to insist it didn’t, just because it was coming out of Bruce’s mouth. He heroically bit back the insults and turned his wrathful glower on Tim, who didn’t even have the good grace to flinch. “And you can’t do it?” he asked.

“I thought about it. I owe Dick such a huge debt, and he’s my brother, and I love him. But I think you were right when you said my expectations of him would hurt us both. At this stage at least.”

“And mine won’t?” Jason turned to Bruce, as a new thought struck him. “And you’re ok with this? You aren’t worried I’m going to just chuck him out the window or something?”

“Jason, if you wanted to cause him harm, you wouldn’t have rescued him.”

“And I would still have two legs.”

Bruce winced ever so slightly and Jason rolled his eyes. “ Just give me some time to think about it,” he said, grudgingly. 

 

Jason thought about it. He was surprised to find he wasn’t actually that averse to the idea in principle. He just didn’t like being forced into things, by sneaky little blue-eyed, chess-playing assholes. But there were going to have to be serious ground rules – for Bruce, whose idea of love involved spying and surveillance at all times. . . 

“No cameras,” Jason told them at the follow-up meeting. This one also included Dick – it was only fair he had a say in things too.

Bruce gave him a flat stare.

“No cameras,” Jason repeated. “And same goes for Oracle, if this place is my home it’s mine.” 

“And mine,” Dick added helpfully. He seemed pleased by the idea overall, and had agreed a neutral space would be best for cohabitation.

Bruce continued to stare at Jason, as though he could somehow change his mind with the power of his will alone. 

“Security cameras are ok – on the outside _only_. The inside is our home,” Jason said as calmly as he could. “No compromise on this one. Although we are both willing to set up panic buttons – I’ll even wear mine like a good boy, to ease your minds. If there is a medical emergency, or I fall on my head or Dick flips his lid and punches the staff, then you’ll know about it. But Not With A Live Feed, got it?”

“Seems fair,” Tim said. And Bruce transferred his Bat glare to the younger boy. Tim looked uncomfortable, but plowed on regardless. “It’s a bad habit Bruce, not very... nurturing.”

This was obviously a discussion that had seen the light of day before, and Jason was happy to leave them to it. He wanted out of this hospital, and he wanted to fix Dick up as soon as possible so he could stop feeling like shit for ruining his life. 

Dick seemed happy though, and he grinned at Jason, already sure of their victory. He was looking better; his hair re-growth was so think it was sticking straight up like the bristles on a brush, and his complexion seemed less wan. He thumped Jason on the shoulder. “Hey Roomy!” he said, with a frightening level of enthusiasm.

Jason had a horrible suspicion he was going to regret this.


	6. Chapter 6

After a day in their new home, it quickly became apparent that Dick was a walking, talking hazard to himself and others (namely Jason) and the situation wavered between funny and frustrating. 

Moving day had been awkward, mainly because the whole family had pitched in and it had made Jason profoundly uncomfortable. He could deal with them one or two at a time, but more than that and he felt vulnerable. They kept looking at his prosthetic, or like Bruce, avoided looking at it so intensely it was worse than all out staring. 

Dick was subdued during the move; he sat on their new, expensive looking sofa and absently petted Damian’s hair while staring into space. Surprisingly the little demon spawn was tolerating it. No one else commented, although Jason caught a few 'aren’t they cute' looks here and there. He suspected if it kept them both calm, then they could do _anything_ and nobody would mention it. 

The scar on Dick’s face had healed well; it was neat and no longer inflamed. Jason thought it highlighted Dick’s fine features and good looks – if Jason had received the same wound he was sure he would look like some sort of street thug and people would cross the road to avoid him. Dick’s hair was growing back too; the only problem was the scar tissue on his scalp. Dick had been grumpy about it at first, but now that his hair was getting longer, the small bald patch wasn’t so obvious and Jason could tease him without getting punched in the face.

As the day had dragged on and Dick became more sullen, Jason hadn’t been able to handle any more pep talks or leg staring and had locked himself in his new room. It was an amazing space, high ceilings and large windows, with modern, dark shutters to keep out the light. His bed was big and comfortable, and there were stupid handles to help him get in or out of bed without his prosthetic. He also had some weight training equipment – for his upper body mostly, he was on strict instructions to only do exercise with his lower body under the watchful eye of a Physio. He couldn’t fathom what they thought was going to happen if he didn’t - would his other leg fall off? 

He lay on the bed and stared at the light, neutral colored ceiling. The room needed personalizing desperately. Jason had grown up in many places, and some he had only spent a few days in, but he liked to make each space his own. It gave him a feeling of security and self. 

He was planning how to decorate and studiously ignoring the sounds of an argument drifting out from the living room. When the yelling turned to the sound of shattering glass Jason pulled his pillow over his head and shut his eyes. This was clearly divine punishment.

 

Jason emerged long after things had become quiet. The living room was in a state of Dick-induced chaos. The mirror had been shattered, as had at least two glasses, and there were clothes and papers strewn about the room. The man himself was asleep on the couch, fingers twitching as he dreamed. Jason looked at Dick, looked at the mess and went back to bed.

 

The next day the first of several lists went up on the fridge door. Jason wrote:

• If you are going to have a tantrum, do it in your own fucking room!  
• If you fail to do it in your room – clean it the hell up, asshole!!! 

This living arrangement was going to go well, Jason could tell already.

 

Although Jason was overjoyed to be out of the hospital, he hadn’t anticipated just how hard some things were going to be – simple activities became a serious struggle, especially, he suspected, when you were trying super hard not to acknowledge the changes and compromises that had to be made. He was determined not to think about his injury and the consequences of it; because it was the only way he could get through the day. 

As a result, there were one or two unfortunate incidents that led to his own fits of rage — and some level of personal injury. (Casualties: bathroom mirror, his face, the shower head and curtain, two plates and a cup – but Dick still had him beat with the complete demolition of the crystal wine glasses Alfred had given them and the flat screen TV)

By the second day, Dick had added his own item to the The List

• Jason, if you can’t take a shower without falling over and refuse to use the shower chair, then ask me for help! I am not spending any   
more time listening to you bitch and moan while I clean blood off the floor.

This was answered the next day by Jason's addition:

• Shut the fuck up, Dick, and while we are on the subject of cleaning, when you use dishes, wash them up after – I am not your fucking   
servant!

It wasn’t all bad though. Jason felt they were both testing limits and trying to find their boundaries. They would settle down eventually, he was sure. They had fun too, — Dick’s sarcastic commentary when watching crap movies was entertaining and his determination to cook was both impressive and terrifying. He could whip up a mean pasta, a tolerable lasagna and terrible, inexcusable curries that made Jason want to cry. 

The first curry night had been more of a curry lunch, and despite the fact that Jason had returned from physiotherapy to find a cyclone of cooking utensils and spice all over the kitchen, and Dick bent at a funny angle with his face under the kitchen tap, he had been tentatively looking forward to dinner. But first he needed to find out why Dick was giving himself a shower in the kitchen sink. He cleared his throat, “Dickie?”

“It’s in my eye!” Dick gurgled, as water ran over his upturned face and into his mouth. “The fucking turmeric!” He waved a hand at a tipped over jar of yellow powder on the counter.

On closer inspection it turned out to be mustard. “It isn’t turmeric,” Jason told him, further examining the other assorted spices and a pot of bubbling yellow goo that might have been an attempt at Bombay potatoes, or perhaps a daal? Chickpeas?

“It is turmeric!” Dick insisted.

Jason ignored him and lifted a pot of foul smelling, slightly burnt looking brown stuff from the heat. His enthusiasm for curry was waning fast. “What is this?” he asked dubiously, poking it with a spoon.

Dick stopped running water into his eye for a moment, and squinted at the pot in Jason’s hand. His hair was dripping water onto the spice-covered floor. “It’s a lamb madras.” 

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Oh, yeah,” he said, noncommittally. “Well, I’m going to go for a salad for lunch.”

“I made this for you!” Dick said, irritation starting to color his voice. “You said it was your favorite!”

“I love a good curry, but I’m trying to eat healthy,” Jason hedged. “Got to keep an eye on my girlish figure.”

“What girlish figure? You’re still underweight. Not a good look for you, it makes you look like some sort of skinny hipster, with your cargo pants and that stupid hair.”

“Thanks Dick, glad you are always on hand to make me feel better about myself.”

Dick flushed, but Jason ignored him and found a cleanish space to chop up some veg for his salad. 

He did invite Dick to join him in an effort to break the tension, but then had to look on with undisguised horror as Dick ate his own hideous creation with gusto. He was going to have to teach the moron how to make a proper madras, since there was no hope for domestic harmony without edible curry. 

 

Of course, there were some serious issues too: Dick was a person who liked physical contact, and he liked to hug the Baby Bats and the Batgirls, even Jason when he had been a kid. He was tactile with his friends, the people he rescued from disaster, even _Superman_ of all people. But he was also a person who respected personal space – the few times they had hugged when Jason was Robin, it had been on Jason’s terms, and Dick had been careful not to push. Brain-damaged Dick still liked contact but didn’t seem to grasp boundaries anymore. He sat far too close to Jason and touched him without permission – something normal Dick would never have done. Jason could tolerate it, unless it was stump touching – then he got angry, and Dick got all hurt or confused and Jason would feel guilty, even though he was totally within his rights to be mad about it. 

It was making him _crazy_. 

Then, on top of that melting pot of emotional mess, there was the anger issue. Dick’s temper was legendary. Although it was usually only Bruce he came to blows with, he could be downright spiteful when he was riled. But Dick had always seemed to know that about himself, and Jason had seen him struggle to keep the cruel words between his teeth, and he had seen him apologize after calming down. Jason didn’t think he himself could have been so up-front about his failings with people that could use them against him. Now, all that anger and vitriol was unfettered, and it was damn hard not to react to it. Jason was no slouch in the temper department either, but he was well aware that if he lost it now and the two of them got into a fight there would be blood at best and serious trauma at worst. So he hung on to his temper, no matter the provocation, while his own rage burnt him up from the inside. 

On the fourth day they tried to play chess. This was a stupid Idea. 

Dick was a tactician, but he was a guy that went with his instincts. He could plan, but he was at his best _reacting_. Out there on the streets he didn’t think, he moved, and it came natural to him – and he was good, possibly the best of them. But chess, he sucked at. He didn’t have the patience now, or the temper for it. After ten minutes he got frustrated and upended the board on Jason’s head.

”You fucking cunt!” Dick yelled at him, and Jason was momentarily shocked – that was not a word he had ever known Dick to use, even casually.

“You fucker!” Dick continued, and his face started to turn red as his rage increased. “You’re taking advantage of me, I can’t concentrate and it’s your fault!”

Jason was a trooper, and he ignored it all, making Dick so angry that he lashed out. It should have been easy to deflect the blow, or to counter-attack, but instead the strike hit Jason square on and he fell off his chair onto the floor. Once it would have taken a lot to throw Jason off balance, he had always been very aware of his abilities and strength. But now his injuries had shot his balance and spatial awareness to shit. He tipped over like a fucking bowling pin.

He couldn’t get up. 

The fall had twisted his leg, and the prosthetic was sitting awkwardly on his stump. His movement was restricted by the burn scars and his body hurt in new and interesting ways. A multitude of expressions crossed Dick’s face: guilt, anger, confusion, despair and frustration. He spun around and slammed into his room, leaving Jason to try to sort himself out. He felt like shit, he felt weak, pathetic, hopeless, and angry — at himself, at Dick, at the universe for always dealing him such shit cards. 

It was times like this that he felt the real weight of what had happened drop down on him. He and Dick were benched – permanently. He couldn’t fight with one fucking leg, and Dick would get himself killed out there; he was too emotionally unpredictable, too sporadic in his moods. 

What was he, what were _either_ of them, without their physical fitness and their training? Without fighting on the streets? Helping people?

He was still on the floor, and he closed his eyes and dug his nails into the flesh of his arms to try to steady himself. The pain brought him no relief and no control. There were some days he wished he had just died in the blast. 

 

He woke uncomfortable. There was something digging into his back and his stump was throbbing incessantly. He was still on the fucking floor. Jason couldn’t decide if he could be bothered to try and get up again or if he was just going to lie there until dawn. It took an embarrassingly long time to realize Dick was perched on the arm of the sofa, looking down at him.

“I’m sorry Jay,” he said. As still and as perfectly poised as a statue. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“Do you think you could help me up? Or you just going to sit there like a freak?” Jason was so fucking tired of trying to pretend he was ok. It was exhausting, emotionally draining and pointless.

“Sure, Jay-bird.” Dick heaved him up and flopped down on the couch next to him, resting his hand on Jason’s thigh. _Again_. Jason couldn’t be fucked with dealing with it, so he shut his eyes tight and dug his nails into his arms again.

“I thought, because we haven’t been close for a long time, that I wouldn’t be able to hurt you. Not like I would hurt them. ” Dick said, running his fingers through Jason’s hair – it was a casual touch, the way you would pet a cat or dog. “But I hurt you anyway. Physically, emotionally – I can’t tell the fucking difference anymore. It was selfish of me to agree to this, I just thought it would be nice to have someone here. And I wanted to help you. It's my fault, that this happened to you.” 

Jason wanted to tell him, he really did, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Everything was sitting so heavy in his stomach, and he couldn’t even summon the energy to ease some of Dick’s pain. 

He hated himself for it. 

After a while, Dick slid to his feet. He still wasn’t as graceful as he had been, but it was coming back to him. “I’m going to pick up something nice for dinner, to cheer us up,” he said, as he headed for the door. 

Jason grunted. He wasn’t really in the mood for being cheered up, he was in the mood for bathing in misery. He shut his eyes and willed the world away. 

 

Dick did not bring back dinner, no, Dick brought back something else, something horrible. Jason blinked a few times, in case he was still asleep or hallucinating – no such luck. In truth he should have known something like this would happen. Dick’s wonky brain lacked anything resembling impulse control. And he had gone out with the intention of making Jason feel better. Somewhere along the line his thoughts had become tangled up, and this was the unfortunate result. 

“What the hell is that?” Jason asked flatly. 

“Meet Bruce!” Dick said pointing rather unnecessarily to the bedraggled looking grey parrot sitting sullenly on his shoulder. “I got him off some guy on Craigslist for only fifty dollars!”

Jason rubbed tiredly at the pain that had just started up behind his eyes. “I thought parrots cost hundreds of dollars?” Surely even balding, gross-looking specimens like the horror Dick was currently cooing at would cost more than fifty?

Dick grinned and shrugged.

“Goddamn piece of shit,” Parrot Bruce said, giving Jason the stink-eye.

Jason started to laugh. It was either that or cry.


	7. Chapter 7

The parrot situation was warring between being Jason’s worst nightmare and a ludicrous farce. 

“I don’t _like_ birds,” he said, as he tried to clean parrot poop off the kitchen floor. 

“You were a Robin, how can you not like birds!” Dick seemed to be in a euphoric mood and it was making Jason want to punch him.

“Firstly I was called Robin, I wasn’t actually a bird, and I hate to burst your bubble, but neither were you. Secondly, I don’t mind them as long as they are far away – close up they’re as creepy as hell.” 

They looked at Parrot Bruce. It was hunched on the breakfast counter, glaring at them while it stuck its freaky bird tongue out to investigate Dick’s phone.

“And that? That is the most fucked up, ugly looking creeper of them all.” Jason said decisively. 

“Fucknugget,” Parrot Bruce said. 

Jason threw his hands into the air, _see_?

Dick reached out and petted its bedraggled, chewed up plumage. “PB is damaged and ugly, but we’ll fix him, and he will be beautiful again.” He smiled indulgently at the bird.

“PB? This is what we’re calling it now?”

“ He, not it. And it will save confusion over which Bruce we’re talking about. He’s going to go from strength to strength.” Dick sounded determined. “Not as sure about his vocabulary though,” he added, somewhat more dubiously.

“Dick, the sentiment is a nice one,” Jason lied, “but you have thus far in your life completely failed to even keep house plants alive. I’m amazed you managed to keep _Damian_ alive when you had charge of him! I expect without Alfred there to make sure he was fed and watered he would have ended up in a similar state as the plants!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dick told the bird, trying to tug his phone away from its razor sharp beak. PB wasn’t giving up without a fight though, and he flapped his stubby, barely-feathered wings angrily. Dick just grinned and petted its grizzled head. 

Jason gave up and hid in his room.

 

He had somehow been browbeaten into giving updates every few days. He had no desire to talk to Bruce, so he usually contacted Tim - this had the added advantage of allowing them to continue their chess championship. 

Skype had loads of benefits for chess playing, but it also meant Tim could see the black eye Dick had given him. He didn’t mention it, but Jason could feel his gaze even though the computer screen. Jason just wanted to play chess and forget about the madness his life had become for just one fucking hour. 

But no.

He was contemplating his next move when the sounds of battle began in the living room. “No PB! You can’t eat that!” was followed by several crashes and PB screeching “Goddamn piece of shit!” at the top of his tiny parrot lungs.

Tim looked at him through the screen with one eyebrow raised. “PeeBie?” he asked hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. 

“PB - Parrot Bruce, allegedly a parrot, but he looks more like an evil Dinorat.”

“A parrot? Why do you have a parrot?” he paused, “You named it after Bruce?” 

Jason nodded. There was still the sound of screeching and mayhem coming from under the door. “Dick bought it to cheer me up.”

“Doesn’t look like it worked.”

“I hate birds, creepy weird feet and beady little eyes – ugh!”

Tim’s lips were twitching suspiciously. 

“I’m not kidding, you should see the state of it, it’s only partially feathered and it’s _evil_. I can sense it,” Jason insisted.

“Parrots are smart and social; they pluck when there’re stressed or bored.”

“Is there anything you don’t know stuff about?”

“No” Tim said smugly. “They are a lot of work as pets they need a lot of attention, and proper nutrition - especially if it’s in bad condition.”

“Nutrition? For a bird? The hell does that even look like?” Jason asked, he wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or concerned that the noise in the living room had stopped.

“What have you given it to eat so far?”

“Last night it had some left over pizza, this morning it ate some of Dick’s cereal and most of my good headphones.”

Tim made a face that Jason was sure he had been wearing since he embarked on this insane plan – a mixture of despair and disbelief. He rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Jason, do some research – use Google like a normal person, then go to a pet store and pick up some proper food, some toys and a good sized cage if it doesn’t have one already.”

“But it’s Dick’s bird!”

“Dick will probably see something else he likes in the pet shop and bring that home too,” Tim said, with out missing a beat. 

“Don’t think I didn’t spot that blatant attempt to manipulate me!” Jason snarled, but he was probably right, the little shit.

 

Another note went up on the fridge:

• _Dick, if you want to buy something you would not normally buy; call a responsible adult first, you moron.  
• Change PB’s water once a day, stick to the feeding schedule and we will keep the Dinorat alive. Somehow._

Predictably, Dick then added:

• _He’s not a Dinorat! [wtf is that anyway?]_

 

Jason was a smart boy, and he knew when he was beat. Operation Pet Shop took until afternoon to set in motion. It involved something frightening – a group excursion. Jason had booked PB in for a check up, he was vaguely hoping it would be found to be suffering from something incurable, but he suspected he just wasn’t that lucky. After the vets they would be heading to the pet center for food, cages and parrot paraphernalia. 

It took three hours for them to collectively leave the house. Dick forgot everything from brushing his teeth to putting on his shoes. PB was sullen and anxious and clung to Dick’s shoulder. By the time the made it into the corridor, Jason already wanted to go home. Dick hadn’t brushed his hair and it was sticking up in all directions. When they got into the elevator, an old guy from the 9th floor joined them on the way down. He really liked Jason, always nodded and smiled to him. He suspected the old man had been told they had been wounded in service, and the thought of deceiving him made Jason a little uncomfortable as he was fairly sure the guy was a veteran himself. But Dick, with his Dick logic, had assured him they had been wounded in the line of duty anyway, just not in the way people thought. 

“Hello Mr. McRae!” Dick said.

“Richard, Jason. Nice to see you boys heading out on the town. Things good?” Mr. McRae asked.

“Yeah, we’re taking that to the vets.” Jason pointed at the parrot, who thankfully refrained from commenting. 

“Oh right,” McRae said, nodding and squinting at the bird though his thick glasses. “What is it?” he asked after a moment.

“A parrot,” Dick said confidently.

“A Congo African Grey,” Jason added, dredging up Tim’s lecture on parrot breeds. “One of the smartest birds around I’m told, although this one seems to have fallen on hard times.” He tried not to laugh as the bird in question glared at him and fondled Dick’s crazy hair with its beak. 

Mr. McRae smiled and nodded in the way you did to crazy people you met on the subway. Thankfully the elevator reached the ground floor and McRae got off, making them promise to come by for cake some time in the week, courtesy of his wife. 

“Can I drive?” Dick asked, as they arrived at the parking garage.

“Do you have a license?” Jason asked sarcastically. There was no way in hell he was getting into a car with Dick at the wheel.

“Of course I do.”

“No, Dick, you really don’t,” Jason unlocked the specially made car Bruce had ordered for him. Thousands of dollars of the best technology for a cripple. Awesome. 

“I do.” Dick looked perplexed, “I passed my test when I was sixteen.”

“And now your license has been revoked. Get in.” Jason opened the door, but before he could maneuver himself in to the vehicle Dick’s fist hit him at full force in the chest, as he powered into Jason knocking him into the wall. Parrot Bruce lost his footing and tumbled off Dick’s shoulder and onto the floor.

“I want to drive, damn it!” Dick yelled.

Jason scrabbled to keep his balance; the unequal weight on his prosthetic made it give out under him slightly. 

“Fuck, Dick!” he yelled back. 

Dick bowed his head, perhaps to try to regain control. Meanwhile PB wiggled around on its back making distressed noises – and for the first time Jason felt some sympathy for it. 

“Dickie, your bird’s hurt,” Jason said gently. Yelling didn’t work any more, not that it ever had, but now it made things worse.

Dick reacted to his words instantaneously. It was a pleasant surprise - maybe having a pet would actually be good for him. Dick knelt and scooped the bedraggled parrot up, talking softly to it. PB seemed torn between rage at the indignity of its life, and the need to be comforted by Dick’s tender touch. 

Jason could relate - he felt like that most days. “Get in the car, guys,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “We’re going to be late.” 

Dick was either too distracted or had forgotten about his desire to drive and he slid into the car and did up his seat belt automatically.

“Goddamn,” Parrot Bruce said forlornly, plucking at its own mangled feathers. 

The three of them were a fucking mess.

“Right, to the vets!” Jason declared with as much false cheer as he could inject into his voice.

“God _damn_ ,” PB said again.

 

“How is this my fault?” Jason snarled into the phone an hour later, “I’m sure if you chuck enough money at him he’ll drop the charges!”

“You were supposed to be preventing this sort of outburst” Bruce said. Even over the phone he had the edge of the Bat to his voice. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? Its not like I have some internal warning system for a Dick Grayson eruption – he just explodes!”

Bruce made a frustrated noise down the phone, and Jason suspected he was trying to pull himself together enough to be reasonable. Jason really wished he wouldn’t, he wanted feel justified in yelling and hanging up. 

“Well you could at least do what you can to protect civilians,” Bruce said.

“What the hell makes you think I don’t? I now have two black eyes to go with my busted lip.”

“And the vet has a well ventilated forearm, and I have what might end up as a million dollar law suit on my hands! We are going to have to work very hard to ensure he isn’t brought up on charges!”

“It’s great - all I’m good for is hurling myself in front of Dick’s fists and his fixation with stabbing people with needles!”

“Jason-”

“No, don’t even try. Your precious Golden Boy needs you now,” Jason said angrily as he tucked the grumpy parrot more firmly under his arm. “The cops won’t let me see him, and the fucking press has got hold of it.”

“Damn,” Bruce said, and his voice had that distant tone to it – the one that indicated he was deep in thought. “I’ll get my team on the legal side and field the press myself. You sit tight.” He hung up.

“Oh yeah, I’ll sit tight,” Jason muttered. He shifted uneasily in his plastic chair and glared at the police officer at the desk. PB whistled and muttered. Jason had thought the featherless freak hated him, but with Dick in the cells it seemed to know he was its best shot, and it had its nasty dinosaur feet practically imbedded in his shirt. Jason absently wiped at a smear of blood on his sleeve. 

He was so preoccupied with worrying about Dick he didn’t even notice the smartly dressed, smiling young man in front of him – a very serious lapse in his training. Dick was going to be the end of him, one way or another. 

“Hi,” the guy said, and Jason jerked in surprise “My name is Warren Lewis.” he held out a hand.

Jason shook it doubtfully. “Jason,” he said. He didn’t like shaking hands, but it seemed stupid to antagonize the cops any more than they already had. 

“Hi Jason, do you think we could go into a private room and have a chat?”

“About what?” Jason asked suspiciously, this guy was giving off social worker signals rather than cop ones.

“Fucknugget,” PB added helpfully.

Lewis's smile looked a bit strained as he glanced at the bird. “Err, about Mr. Grayson.” 

Of course it was about Mr. _fucking_ Grayson, bane of his existence. “Fine” he said. But when he tried to get up he once again forgot that he was missing a leg – he had to move a little different with the prosthetic and when it slipped his mind he usually ended up on his ass. He slid sideways, glanced off the end of the chair and fell to the floor - just about catching himself with one hand before his face hit the ground. Parrot Bruce screeched in alarm and dug its claws into his arm. 

“Motherfuck!” Jason snarled. His life was just one indignity after another. 

“Jason, are you ok?” Mr. Lewis reached out a hand to him and PB attacked it in a flurry of mangled feathers and whistles of fury. Lewis backed off fast, and Jason felt a sudden feeling of camaraderie with the parrot – he didn’t like Lewis either.

It took a few agonizing minutes to sort himself out and attempt to pretend he hadn’t just face-planted on the floor trying to get out of a chair. He thought he couldn’t feel any more shame and self directed anger than he did right then.

Of course, he was wrong. 

Mr. Lewis took him to an interview room, sat him down in another plastic chair and offered him a coffee. He smiled that social worker smile. “Jason, I am an independent victim support adviser and the police officer in charge of this case asked me to have a chat with you while they are interviewing Mr. Grayson.”

Jason glared; he had a bad feeling about this. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” Mr. Lewis continued, rather bravely Jason thought, seeing his best glare could make hardened criminals pee their pants. 

“No I don’t. Shouldn’t you be offering ‘victim support’ to the vet? Or is he still with the doctors?”

“He’s still in treatment, although I have been told there’ll be no lasting damage.”

“Well, at least he will be parasite free for the next six months. Got to look on the bright side of being stabbed with a hypodermic full of parrot worming meds.”

“What about you, Jason? How are things at home?”

“Fine.”

“Mr. Grayson assaulted you in front of witnesses, and the veterinary nurse said you already had bruises on your face when you arrived for your appointment.” Lewis looked at him earnestly.

“What the fuck are you trying to imply?” he snarled at the man, this wouldn’t be happening if he wasn’t considered vulnerable because of his injury. Just one more fucking humiliation on top of the multitude he had already suffered today.

“Is Grayson abusing you?”

“Are you shitting me?” Jason had suspected this was what they were headed for but _seriously_?

“Jason, men who suffer domestic abuse often don’t report it. And its obvious today wasn’t the first time Mr. Grayson has hurt you.”

Jason staggered to his feet flinging his chair back behind him “Fuck you! I can look after myself, and Dick has brain damage, he doesn’t know what he’s doing!”

“Spousal abuse¬–”

“He’s my brother, not my fucking spouse! I can’t deal with any more of this shit, I’m going home!” Jason squeezed the parrot in his agitation, but it only whistled at him. He stormed out the best he could. He was pretty sure this wouldn’t be the last time he met with Mr. Warren Lewis. 

 

He had bought take out and beer, and had indulged liberally in both. His brooding was interrupted at eight thirty when an express delivery of parrot necessities had arrived – with the note: 

_I understand you didn’t make it to the pet shop – here are a few essentials. Try not to be too hard on Dick and the bird. Or yourself._

_BTW: black bishop to knight 2 - get out of that one._

_\- T_

Prick. Jason couldn’t help a small smile though. And PB loved his food and made happy noises at it as he ate. He also loved his toys, dragging most of them behind the couch and standing guard over them. But he grew listless as time drew on and Dick didn’t return. Eventually the bird climbed on to the couch and stared mournfully at Jason.

“Motherfucker,” Jason told it.

PB whistled, but his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Motherfucker,” Jason said again.

“Mother fuck!” it said, then clicked its tongue a few times and made a noise like the opening of a can of beer. _Clunk fizz_

As a reward, Jason offered him a bit of his Nan-bread. PB took it in his scaly, nasty foot and inspected it, before stuffing in it his mouth. Jason flicked on the Television and they both settled down to watch America’s Most Wanted. 

Dick was still absent.

“Motherfuck,” PB said decisively. “Motherfucker!” He pulled Jason’s plate towards him with a rough claw. Jason distantly hoped PB wasn’t allergic to curry. He watched as the parrot started discarding bits of food - some of his curry dropped on the floor, but most went all over the table. At least someone was having fun.

When he finally felt his felt his drunkenness start to suck him under, Jason let it roll away his the multitude of failure and unpleasantness this day had been. Instead of dreaming of burning and explosions he dreamt of being Robin, flying about the city on bright wings.

Somehow, that was worse.


	8. Chapter 8

Jason woke to the rumbling sound of Bruce’s voice. 

“—Put a sympathetic spin on it, but even so the press will be watching for a repeat of yesterday.” 

Jason wished he was still asleep. He wasn’t sure he was ready to cope with whatever the new day was planning to throw at him. Not yet.

“I didn’t mean for any of that to happen, I didn’t plan it.” Dick sounded dejected and exhausted. The sound of his voice woke PB, who had been sleeping on the couch cushion next to Jason. It shook itself, glared at Jason and hopped off the couch in search of its master and breakfast. Jason stayed lying down where he couldn’t be easily seen. He didn’t want to think about yesterday, but it didn’t look like that was going to be an option.

“You are very lucky you weren’t charged for that outburst, swearing at the police didn’t help matters either. You have to control your temper.” Bruce had that calm tone to his voice that indicated he would probably be yelling and ranting and gnashing his teeth, if he were a normal person. 

“How am I supposed to do that?” 

“Learn.”

“That’s not helpful, Bruce!” Dick’s voice had risen to dangerous levels. 

“ _Learn_. You have always had trouble with bursts of temper, but you learned to control them, and you can do it again.” Bruce had a point, but Jason could already see the bloodbath this was going to turn into if he didn’t stop treating Dick like he was still the Dick he used to be. 

As if on cue, Dick’s rage erupted. “And repress myself until I want to explode? Until I can’t stand myself anymore!”

Bruce was silent and Dick’s harsh breathing was audible in the quiet. This would have been a fascinating exchange once, but now it just hurt Jason’s head and his heart. 

“Dick, you’re being irrational. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, you won’t listen—”

“No! You won’t listen, you never listen, you emotionally constipated, self-righteous coward!”

Jason almost sat bolt upright and gave away his position on the couch at that one. He wondered if he would have to leap across the room to separate them when the violence started – although what would he do? Threaten to beat them with his prosthetic?

“You—” Bruce paused. “What the hell is that?” 

“It’s PB!” Dick said, and the rage had disappeared from his voice like it had never been. 

“Motherfucker!” PB said by way of a greeting. Jason grinned. 

“This is the bird that caused all the fuss?” Bruce sounded doubtful. Not a tone you often heard from the Bat.

“Yes, look Bruce—”

“No, Dick, you were right. We’re both overwrought – you rest, and we will talk about it tomorrow. I need to speak to the social worker interested in Jason. He as much as said he was going to cause trouble.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t think it’s necessary. We'll invite him over and he can see it was all a misunderstanding,” Dick said. 

Jason could imagine the guileless look on Dick’s face. And because it was Dick, and he was probably doing the big puppy dog eye thing, Bruce let it go. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

“You too B, I love you.”

There was a long, awkward pause.

“Sleep well, Dick.” Bruce said gently, after a moment. Jason remembered that tone from his childhood and it sent a spark of pain through his chest. 

The door shut, and Jason listened to Dick remove his shoes and pad across the room to the disaster of leftover curry and beer cans that covered the table and floor. When he saw Jason still lying on the couch, he sucked in an unhappy breath and sank to his knees beside him. 

“Jay, I’m so fucking sorry.” He touched Jason’s bruised face and Jason pushed himself into a sitting position. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick said again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Whatever,” Jason said. He had a headache, but whether it was from Dick’s fists or the beer was anybody’s guess. “Why’d you stop Bruce from scaring off the social worker? He is going to cause trouble for us – not to mention the fact if he decides to drop in, he will probably be leaving with a black eye or two.”

Dick winced, but he had a determined look on his face. “Because I don’t want him to go away. This situation is wrong.”

“And you think some pussy-assed, holier-than-thou social worker is going to make all the difference?” 

“Pussy-assed? Seriously? He stood up to threats and intimidation from Bruce, me _and_ you. And he is still determined to try to help. He deserves a medal for bravery.”

Jason scowled, but Dick did have a point. The guy was tenacious to the point of foolishness. “So he’s got more bravo than brains, still don’t want him here.”

Dick slid onto the couch beside him, leaning against him and Jason counted down five, four, three, two - yep, Dick’s hand landed on what was left of his leg. The moron seemed to be using Jason’s stump as some kind of a security blanket, but Jason was getting used to it, kind of. 

“I want him here because this situation is unacceptable, my behavior is unacceptable and I need to know how to change it, _if_ I can change it. Or I am going to find alternate accommodation.”

“Bruce would love that, unless you were thinking of the manor? Which would be even worse.”

“This situation isn’t fair to you, Jason.”

“Oh for fuck's sake Dick!” Jason plucked Dick’s hand off his leg and squeezed his wrist angrily. “Get over it. I’m a big boy, I don’t need protection, I can take a few fucking punches, I’ve been taking them all my life!”

Dick’s expression was pained. He opened his mouth to argue but Jason beat him to it. “And anyway, it’s not often B trusts me to do shit.” He hadn’t meant to be so honest, or sound so bitter. 

“That’s the point I’m trying to make!” Dick yelled. “They aren’t being fair! Can you imagine if our positions were reversed? If you were punching me in the face every time I forgot to do the dishes or left food out on the counter?”

“I think about punching you in the face every time you do those, and any number of things.”

“Yes, but you _don’t_. I hit you over a game of chess, then over not being able to drive – which still pisses me off by the way! Why can’t I drive?” His voice rose again and his eyes narrowed dangerously – having a serious conversation with Dick these days was a bit like playing Russian roulette with a semi automatic. 

“Dick. Calm.”

Dick looked at him angrily for a moment, but then the rage melted away to confusion. “What was I talking about again?”

“Punching me.” 

“For what?” Dick rubbed his forehead with his palms. He looked shattered, and for a moment there was nothing on his face but child-like vulnerability. Jason hated that look, so he pulled him into a hug. Dick relaxed against him. 

“It doesn’t matter, we just have to face each day as it comes. This place is okay, we get on all right apart from the fact you are the biggest slob I have ever met.”

Dick smiled, but then his face screwed up again. “That’s what I was talking about!”

Jason bit back a groan; he should have changed the subject entirely.

“Can you imagine what would happen if you were beating on me all the time? Do you think I would still be here?” Dick asked

“Well, you are a stubborn son of a bitch.” 

“Bruce would kick your ass, Tim wouldn’t speak to you ever again. It’s not fair they are leaving you alone to deal with this. That’s why we should talk to the social worker.”

“True, but I chose to do this. And it’s not that they don’t care about what’s happening. It's just that they trust me to be able to deal with it. And I will.” There were words he couldn’t say. He was nowhere near ready to give Bruce a break or accept him back into his life and heart – but the fact Bruce trusted him with Dick of all people, the fact he was _relying_ on him, a murderer and a trouble maker, with someone so precious… that really meant something. 

Of course, although it hurt him to think it, Dick was right. If their positions were reversed, things would be different. But that was because they would doubt Dick’s ability to detach enough to deal with it. Jason could handle Dick, — punches, rage and rudeness. Hell, he enjoyed brain-damaged Dick’s company way more than he had enjoyed other Dick. Plus it gave him something to think about other than himself and his current position. 

“You look beat, do you want to go to bed?” Jason asked, hoping to file the subject away for later. 

Dick was having none of it. “They arrested me!” he said indignantly. “I spent the night in the cells!”

“Yeah well, you did stab a guy with a hypodermic full of parrot meds.” 

“Can’t believe I got arrested. ” Dick was blinking stupidly and didn’t seem to be heading for bed any time soon. Jason sighed and heaved himself up – mindful of the leg this time. Dick looked at him questioningly but Jason motioned him to stay. He fetched his blanket, and dumped it on Dick’s head, then he got some snacks for them, and some for PB before arranging the three of them on the couch. He handed the remote to Dick and settled down for a lazy day. Dick smiled, warm and happy – like the past twenty-four hours hadn’t happened at all. Bruce used to do the same for Jason when he was sick. The memory wasn’t as bitter as it had been. 

They watched Pirates Of The Caribbean – Dick laughed like a maniac, and not always at the funny bits. Jason spent most of the movie locked in battle with PB over a bag of Cheetos – the little bastard seemed to prefer Jason’s snacks to its own.

They were just embarking on some Disney movie about a chick with super long hair, when Dick stirred beside him. “Do you?” he asked.

“Do I what? You're doing that thing where you have half the conversation in your head then get mad when I get confused.”

“Sorry. Love him too?”

“Who?” Keeping up with Dick’s thought process took a lot of jumping tracks, but this one was a no-brainer. Jason just didn’t want to deal. 

“Bruce. He looked so weirded out when I said it. I thought I said it all the time.”

“You probably thought it rather than said it” Jason had to wonder why Dick always wanted to discuss the uncomfortable stuff. It was like his version of catnip.

“Oh. So do you?”

“No,” Jason lied. He felt so many things about Bruce. If he didn’t love him, it wouldn’t hurt so much. 

Dick hugged him, his eyes suddenly damp. “That’s sad Jay, for both of you. We should fix it.” 

Jason held back the anger trying to work its way out. “We’re missing the movie, Dick.” 

Dick nodded, but remained holding Jason in a fierce hug.

 

Eventually Dick had fallen asleep and Jason had managed to extricate himself from the Cheeto-covered blanket pile. PB had been playing with his foraging box, so Jason retired to his own room to google anger management in people suffering from traumatic brain injury. 

 

He woke with his face pressed to his laptop keyboard, thankfully on the less bruised side. It was after ten in the evening. All was quiet, but Jason figured he should check if Dick had made it to bed or done himself an injury. 

He was momentarily taken aback as he entered the living room to find Bruce on the couch in his elegantly tailored suit. Dick was asleep with his head on Bruce’s shoulder, and The Batman seemed to be engaged in a staring match with PB. The scruffy parrot was glaring and hissing.

Jason hesitated just a moment too long, and Bruce sensed his presence before he could flee back into his room. Bruce’s eyes widened minutely, followed by a dozen other small facial shifts, tiny micro-expressions that revealed his surprise at Jason’s battered appearance. Jason realized they hadn’t seen each other since the most recent bust-up. Something wobbled in his chest for a moment. Bruce hadn’t known how bad it was. Jason wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. 

“Jason,” Bruce greeted him, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Dick.

“You two sorted out your differences then?” Jason asked. 

“For now.” 

Jason fidgeted slightly. Seeing the two of them like this was. . . disturbing, in some way. Jealousy, regret, bitterness— so many feelings were coursing through him. Bruce had gone back to looking his usual unruffled self, the fucker.

“Why are you letting him hurt you?” Bruce asked carefully after a long moment. His gaze was unwavering, but not unsympathetic. “Even with your injury you could defend yourself.”

“Could I? There’s not always any warning before he flips out.” 

“Then why are you putting up with it?” Bruce asked, more gently than Jason was anticipating, and it made him mad.

“The fuck does that mean?” 

Bruce looked momentarily aggrieved. Jason knew the man was desperately trying to come up with something to say that wasn’t going to make him kick off. He also knew he was being unkind in deliberately reacting badly to what Bruce was saying, but he didn’t want to hear it.

He was too muddled between the fact he blamed Bruce for his own condition (and a whole host of other past offenses) but at the same time he was well aware the whole thing was his own fault. He could taste the blame on his tongue every morning when he woke and remembered. Every time Dick cried or yelled or laughed at something inappropriate, every time he forgot something that would have been part of his normal routine.

He _deserved_ Dick’s rage and violence.

And Bruce, being the smart, observant man he was, had picked up on it. He hadn’t pinpointed it exactly, but everything Jason said was giving him more data, and that was the last thing he wanted. This conversation was a mine field that Jason was not going to let Bruce cross unscathed. 

“You’re letting him do it. Is it misplaced blame? Survivor's guilt?” Apparently Bruce was going to stomp right on through anyway.

“You don’t fucking know anything, Bruce!” 

Dick shifted and muttered in his sleep. Jason saw Bruce’s fingers tighten where they rested on Dick’s shoulder. And suddenly all the fight went out of him. He just wanted to lie on the floor and cry. But he preferred to leave the dramatic gestures to Dick and Damian, the two drama queens of the family, and instead slumped into a chair.

“I only saved part of him, didn’t I?” Jason said quietly.

Bruce didn’t answer, but the truth was in his silence. 

“I expected you to rail on me for such a huge failure,” Jason admitted, slightly appalled at his honesty. “Usually the only mistakes you give a free pass to are your own.”

Bruce snorted. “If you think I do not see or admit my failures you have been living under a serious misconception. I live and breathe them every day.” 

“I’m well aware that you use me, what happened to me, as an instrument of self-flagellation,” Jason sneered, although his heart wasn’t in it.

“As you are doing with Dick.”

Jason barked out a strained laugh. Arguing with Bruce was the most frustrating thing – because as often as he was wrong headed and stubborn, he was twice as often right. It was hard when you never knew which Bruce was going to answer you back 

“Perhaps therapy?” Bruce offered.

“No, it’s not me that fucking needs it. We need to sort Dick out, we need to help him deal with his temper and memory lapses.” Jason shrugged. “I don’t know where to start,” he admitted.

“Understanding the things that need to be addressed is a good beginning. I will look into it.”

“Oh, goody.”

“The two of you need more support than you have been getting, that’s my fault.”

“I don’t need —” 

“For Dick,” Bruce broke in smoothly. 

Jason was trying to muster up some bluster and spite from under the fog of miserable exhaustion, when PB decided to act. He launched a direct attack on Bruce’s left cufflink, his sharp beak making short work of the sleeve of Bruce’s Armani suit. Bruce woke Dick as he jerked away and attempted to remove the bird without harming it, or getting his fingers bitten off. 

A vintage Bulgari cufflink shot across the floor and PB let out a screech of victory. Jason once again felt a stirring of affection for the bird.

Dick grinned sleepily at Bruce, all anger apparently forgotten. But Bruce didn’t notice; he had a rare baffled look on his face as he stared at the parrot, who had apparently set his sights on Bruce’s suit buttons.

Jason never saw Bruce as just a person – he was Batman or he was _Bruce_ ; someone so important in Jason’s life, for good or bad, that when he was able to see a bit of the unguarded man beneath, it always took him by surprise. The expression on his face as he stared at the bird made him look vulnerable and that made Jason profoundly uncomfortable. 

But not Dick. Dick leaned over and smooshed Bruce’s cheeks together like he was a precocious little kid. “Adorable,” Dick said, straight-faced, then he flung a leg over Bruce’s lap and settled back down to sleep. 

Both Bruce and Jason stared at him in flabbergasted silence, until Dick’s breathing evened out back into slumber. The quiet continued for several more minutes, broken only by the sound of Armani buttons skittering across the floor as PB continued his reign of terror.

“He hasn’t acted like that with me since he was a kid,” Bruce said. His voice was almost wistful, but there was a hint of pain on his face. 

Jason had a sudden image of tiny Dickie snoozing on Bruce’s lap or squishing his cheeks to make him laugh. He suspected Bruce was having the same thoughts, by the small smile tugging at his lips. 

Eventually Bruce seemed to shake himself out of his memories “Ok, Jay. I'll get in touch with some people who might be willing to help – who will understand our particular issues.”

Jason nodded, his throat too tight to speak – Bruce using his old nickname made him just want to _die_.

“Motherfucker!” PB crowed in triumph, as he liberated the last button. 

Bruce dislodged the parrot and carefully lay Dick’s legs back onto the couch. “I should leave before this thing manages to strip me bare,” he said, as he edged for the door under the parrot's victorious stare.

“Sure. Drop me a line if you have some sort of Dick-fixing brainwave or discover a way to grow back a limb.”

Jason saw a flash of emotion cross Bruce’s face. For a moment he looked old and haggard, weighed down with loss. It was horrible. Dick was right that Bruce was emotionally constipated – but that just meant all that emotion was just locked inside him, hurting and stifling. He hadn’t really let himself dwell on what Bruce must be feeling. And that just brought him a new layer of misery.

“If you want to come back in the week, let me know and I’ll make sure the Dinorat is in its cage,” he offered after a moment. As olive branches went it wasn’t great, but it was the best he could do at the time.

Bruce offered him a small smile in return. “I meant to ask, what does PB stand for?” he asked as he moved towards the door.

If Jason’s grin was slightly on the evil side, he surely had just cause.


	9. Chapter 9

If the seventh week of Dick and Jason’s attempt at living together had a theme, that theme would have been sex. Not in the fun, happy sense, the way sex should be, but a horrible mess of emotions and a car-crash of personal relationships. 

Jason shouldn’t have taken everything so personally, but the subject of sex and sexuality had been weighing on his mind anyway. His confidence (which had always been 25% belief in his general awesomeness and 75% bluster and bullshit) had taken a knock, both in regards to his own body image and in terms of his perceived performance if he ever got laid again, as unlikely as that was. It was dumb as hell, but he just couldn’t picture himself fucking with only one leg and with burn scars crawling up is abdomen and across his ass. It was fucking stupid to feel that way, and he felt so conflicted about it, ashamed of the thoughts that were chasing themselves all over his mind. 

Take Barbara Gordon: a woman who was amazing, badass, smoking hot and his secret heroine. The fact she was paralyzed didn’t change any of those facts. When he thought of her, he saw an incredible, sexy, slightly scary person. When he thought of himself he cringed away mentally. He felt like he was living and breathing his own double standards, but he just couldn’t stop.

There was another problem too, but he wasn’t going to think about that. Not one bit, his ego just couldn’t survive another blow. So, it might have been true that he had taken the things that happened in week seven a little personally. Maybe. 

Jason had done his research, with the occasional prompt from Tim the ever-faithful Bat-Hound. He had read up on the potential issues Dick’s condition might bring up. Sexual dysfunction was one of them, and Jason had foolishly assumed that would make Dick _less_ interested in sex, that maybe Dick was the one person he could share some of his issues with – or if he was honest, at least be someone he could feel superior to in order to make himself feel better. But that wasn’t the case and, for reasons Jason didn’t want to think about, that was unreasonably irritating.

He hadn’t noticed Dick being preoccupied with sex, or somehow being more lustful than normal, but then, he apparently had been slow on the uptake about a lot of things. Maybe Dick had just been in the process of recovery and hadn’t been ready to get back on that particular horse yet. Jason could relate. 

 

It started when he returned home from physio and saw something so mentally scaring he couldn’t even yell about it. Instead, he went to his room and composed post-it notes to stick on the fridge; very, very angry ones. 

_You have scarred me for life. Thanks for that, you asshole!_

Was first in big block capitals. 

Then: 

_New house rule: no sexual activity with yourself or others to take place outside of your fucking bedroom. No exceptions!_

He underlined this so hard it ripped the yellow post-it paper. He took out the next, and this time he did as copy of ‘surviving the emotional fallout of physical trauma’ told him, and let his feelings flow.

_Also, when jerking off, please, please put the parrot down first. He does not need to see that shit and I can’t actually cope with the image of you whacking off with a fucking parrot on your shoulder – an image now seared into my fucking retinas you brain-damaged freak!_

Later that evening, when the house was quiet, he stuck the notes on the fridge with extreme prejudice. 

He didn’t sleep that night, there was a live action replay behind his closed eyes – the image of Dick jerking off while casually watching some god-awful action flick from the early 90’s was disturbing in its own right, but PB snoozing on his shoulder as he did so added a layer of pure horror. 

Week seven had a lot to answer for in regards to Jason’s mental health. 

 

In the morning Dick had responded to his notes with a simple: 

_Sorry._

But then ruined it by adding:

_I am sure PB has no real concept of human sexuality and he probably didn’t mind._

Jason considered retaliating by writing: ‘but _I_ mind!’ on the actual fridge in black marker pen,but instead shut himself in his room.

 

Overall, the week was off to a bad start, and Jason probably should have taken the hint and stayed in bed. 

There was one issue that he had been trying to either ignore or counter with levels of false optimism he didn’t even realize he possessed: Dick wasn’t coping.

Jason’s need to bolster Dick’s spirits was partly motivated by the insidious guilt that was literally eating him up from the inside, but he did genuinely want to help, and it gave him something to think about other than himself. He had never suffered from self-pity before – not in any real sense. He had been through shit, sure, but he had other people to blame for that. Now he had no one but himself. 

He had been so intent on pretending he was ok, working so hard to behave normally, he hadn’t actually been paying attention to Dick’s behavior – Dick was erratic, he suffered from mood swings, sometimes he disappeared into his room for days at a time,and that was understandable. 

Except that wasn’t what had been happening. Jason had apparently missed a crap-ton of stuff that was going on under his own roof – or not under his roof, as it turned out. 

Dick was not going into his room; in fact he was going out. Out into Gotham by himself. The thought was terrifying.

And to make matters worse, Jason had only learned of this after receiving an email from Tim:

_Jason,_

_I don’t want to alarm you, but Dick is hitting the bars of the Gotham strip, and he’s causing trouble. Can you have a word? I am trying to run inference with Bruce, but there is only so much he can take before he starts showing signs of blowing a gasket._

_Dick was also apparently grilling Steph over make-up? They even went shopping for foundation. Any idea what that’s about? [This is also worrying because Steph and make-up don’t always mix well – just ask anyone about Cassandra and the Christmas party of 2011 and watch them cringe.]_

_Also Babs says if Dick doesn’t call her back she’s going to insert an Escrima stick somewhere the sun doesn’t shine. I think she is serious._

_Hope things with you and the parrot are going better [Bruce was both amused and offended by its name – I can’t believe you told him]_

_\- T_

Jason had been shocked; a chill had run down his spine. The idea of Dick sneaking off by himself was concerning - both for Dick’s safety, as his judgment was rather unreliable since the accident, and for the general well being of Gotham, because brain damaged Dick was potentially very dangerous. 

Jason had answered Tim’s message half on autopilot – his mind was spinning, recalibrating this new information and trying to come up with a plan. 

 

_Ted,_

_Thank you for the heads up, I’ll deal with it._

_Tell Dick’s friends and family I am not his fucking answering service and if they want to talk to him they can call him or come over. [When I am_ out _]_

_Also, we still on for Tuesday night chess? I feel the need to kill something – even if it is in a very metaphorical sense._

_The parrot is still Evil and Wrong._

_Jason_

 

After that email, the other issue he was concerned about started to make more sense. 

Jason had recently become aware of the fact that Dick was drinking. Before the explosion, he rarely had more than a few insipid light beers at parties or hanging out with Roy. He valued his control too much to let it go. But during the past week or so Dick had started drinking in an unhealthy way. He wasn’t very good at it, and he would puke or pass out after less than a quarter of a bottle of the hard stuff, but it was a behavioral change and coping method that was very worrying. 

After finding Dick passed out on the kitchen floor in a puddle of $80 Oban single malt -a damn waste of a good scotch- Jason decided enough was enough. He put Dick to bed and kept an eye on him, just in case of further disaster. Of course that meant he got precious little sleep himself and then had to nap on the couch until late afternoon. He drifted off worrying about how he was going to broach the subject without getting a fist to the face. 

Thankfully Dick provided the opening Jason needed. 

A clattering from the guest bathroom woke Jason just before dusk. Dick was cussing up a storm so Jason pulled himself from his warm tangle of blankets to investigate. He followed a trail of cosmetics and powder to the bathroom, where Dick appeared to be engrossed in applying make up to his face. 

“Dare I ask?” Jason rubbed his tired eyes and carefully avoided his own reflection in the mirror. 

“The scar makes me ugly. I’m fixing it up.” Dick expertly swirled two shades of liquid foundation together in a dish, before he began to paint it along the puckered line of his facial scar.

“What brought this on?” Jason asked, apart from the odd tantrum at the beginning, Dick had never expressed any real distress about the aesthetics of his injury. The mark was noticeable, but he wore it well, and he still turned heads. 

Dick put down his brush and turned to face Jason, the half made up scar looked strange and unfinished. “It makes me ugly. I hate being alone, I need to meet someone, I need to feel loved, _wanted_!” 

Jason held up a calming hand, and hoped he wasn’t about to get stabbed by a makeup brush. “Ok, so you’ve been going to bars to find a date?”

“Yeah. Or a fuck, I don’t care, I can pretend it’s for more than one night.” 

The down turn of Dick’s lips told their own story though, and Jason winced. That wasn’t going to end well, Dick put too much of himself into even the most casual relationships – or at least he had done. He craved affection and his only source of it now was Jason’s reluctant company and a velociraptor poorly disguised as a parrot. 

Jason scrubbed at his eyes again, he was getting a headache. “But what? You can’t pick someone up? Even with the injury on your face, you’re still hot, and you’re funny and smart…” He trailed off. He was suddenly struck by the fact it _wasn’t_ Dick’s looks putting off potential partners; he had been funny and kind and smart… but now he had no brain to mouth filter and a terrifying temper. 

"What usually happens when you hit the bars?" Jason asked, as casually as he could.

Dick squinted thoughtfully at his reflection in the mirror. “I approach someone, and we chat, and then they either yell at me or make an excuse to leave. One lady threw her drink on me." 

Jason had no doubt,but he also didn’t doubt that Dick’s perception of events was probably a bit askew. Before he could really think about the horror he was about to inflict on himself, he opened his fool mouth, “If you’re up for it, maybe I could come with you? It’s been a while since I went out for a drink. I could maybe see where you’re going wrong?”

“That would be great!” Dick was suddenly full of enthusiasm, “you could be my wingman!” he started to laugh manically. “Do you get it? Wing-man, because I’m Nightwing!”

“Yeah Dick, I get it.” Jason had this weird creeping feeling of disbelieving dread crawling over his skin; what had he just agreed to?

 

“I like your boobs,” Dick said to the woman who had been giving him the eye at the bar. 

She was now giving him a look between outrage and bemusement, like she realized something was off about him, but was still too pissed to care. 

“I meant that in a nice way” Dick added hurriedly, perhaps sensing he was losing her. 

“Okay then,” she said, a fake, irritated smile pulling at her lips. “Well, I guess this is the part I tell you to go fuck yourself, and I mean that in a _nice_ way.” She took her drink and headed back to her friends, her expression still angry and slightly disturbed. Jason couldn’t blame her.

Dick gave him an unhappy look and Jason put his head in his hands and considered skipping the beer and just hitting the tequila. He made a note to himself to make sure the woman got a drink as an apology.

An hour later and Jason was sure he was going to be bankrupt by the ‘I’m so sorry for my friend’ drinks he was buying people. 

Jason had taken Dick aside several times, offered all the advise he could – simple things like: “Try complimenting her about something that isn’t sexual, even if she has the best ass in the world, you should probably try to talk about something neutral before you mention it.” And “Just think before you speak!”

And Dick always nodded like he was taking it on board, but then he would blurt out something terrible anyway. To be honest, Dick’s accidentally sexual comments were making _Jason_ uncomfortable, it must be so much worse for the woman he was failing to chat up.

 

Dick wasn’t being physically aggressive, but the things he was saying were often offensive at best and seriously creepy at worst. The sad fact was, they probably weren’t that different to the things most people thought when they saw someone attractive: wow nice rack! Great ass! Your nipples are erect! The difference was, mostly decent people made that kind of commentary in their inside voice. 

 

The next few conversations went much the same. If it wasn’t something sexual or skeevy, it was something harsh or irritated, at one point he launched into a four minute diatribe about the plight of sharks being killed for their fins. The young woman he was talking to at the time looked honestly afraid and Jason had to rescue her. 

To say this wasn’t working was a vast understatement, and seeing Dick like this, doing things and behaving in a way he would have abhorred _before_ , just hurt Jason at some deep level. Watching this sad shit had to be a circle of hell, it really did. 

 

Eventually he just couldn’t take any more and he dragged Dick onto the street with him. They staggered onto the sidewalk and walked down the strip, Jason’s awkward almost limp slowing their pace. 

Jason nodded to a brightly lit establishment that seemed to have lots of pretty people milling about the entrance. "What about that one?" 

"Can’t, barred." Dick said, leading them forward. They passed another bar, where the guy on the door gave them the evil eye. 

"Barred from that one too?"

“Yeah, I brought PB with me and he called the doorman a cocksucker. Then I had a fight with him.”

“You are so lucky you have only been arrested the one time so far. And don’t take the parrot out drinking, Dick. It’s not good for him.”

Dick shrugged, and led him by the hand up a brightly lit side-street. Jason allowed the contact somewhat bemusedly, he didn’t thank he had ever held someone’s hand like that before. But it was Dick, and Dick did that kind of thing. 

The next bar had a great big rainbow flag billowing over the door. Dick tugged him towards it. “Dickie, that’s a gay bar.”

“Yup”

Okay then. “So, did the head injury make you gay, or so horny you don’t care?”

Dick turned and gave him a look of bemused bitchiness that was 100% pre-explosion, and it made Jason heart twist. 

“I’ve always been bisexual, Jason.” Dick rolled his eyes “That a problem?”

Jason shook his head. “Nope, just having to massively readjust my world view.” More of that brain recalibration crap; this week was full of surprises. 

 

The woman on the door gave Dick a flat look that made Jason suspect it wasn’t his first time in this place. 

“You going to be good tonight?” She asked.

Dick looked embarrassed. “Yeah Annie, no trouble, promise.” Then he grinned, “How’s Bella? And how’s she coping with the new job?” 

Annie nodded. “She’s doing great, teaching is her life, the fool. I would rather deal with you bunch of drunken assholes than a horde of fucking kindergarteners.”

Dick laughed again, and she smiled at him, and patted him on the shoulder as he passed. “Don’t make me chuck you out again, you hear?”

“Promise!” Dick said. 

The fact he knew shit about the bouncers life – that was just so _Dick_. It was going to be one of those nights where Jason’s guilt just ate him up. He gave Annie a nod and slid part her. He didn’t want to loose sight of Dick as he worked his way towards the bar. Jason didn’t think much of Dick’s chances of keeping his promise to Annie.

Of course Dick seemed to be determined to prove Jason’s unvoiced thoughts wrong. He had been chatting with his next victim for almost fifteen minutes, and his companion was still smiling. Jason leant on the bar and prayed. He was tense and couldn’t relax, instead he kept shooting surreptitious glances in Dick’s direction, and strained to hear the conversation. 

“If you stare at that boy any harder, his hair’s going to combust.” A woman’s voice said. 

Jason turned to the speaker, almost spilling his beer – he hadn’t even heard her approach. She smiled at him, one elbow on the bar. She was beautiful, with dark skin and tight ringlets cut close to her head. She had an air of friendly confidence that reminded him of Dick. 

“It’s not like that,” Jason said, franticly trying to reclaim his equilibrium. Talking to people that weren’t his people was not something he did often these days. 

“Really? You’ve been staring at him since you came in. I wondered what the story was. He your ex? Oblivious friend? Is the story tragic?” The questions were teasing, but her smile was kind.

“He’s like a foster brother – and my roommate.” Jason winced. He sounded like a fool. 

The woman stuck out a hand “I’m Erica.”

He shook it. “Jason.”

Erica gave him a sly smile, “Can I buy you a drink, handsome?”

Jason raised an eyebrow “You sure can. I’ll take a beer.”

She turned up her nose at the bottle in his hand. “I think I should choose for you.”

He gave her a genuine grin, “Hell yeah, I like a woman who knows her booze.”

She snorted. “Anything would be better than that crap.” She ordered him a strong craft beer. It tasted damn good; much better than the week piss Dick had bought them both.

Erica took a sip of her own drink. “So, Jason, what’s the deal with you and the hot roommate?”

Jason considered for a moment. “He was in an accident a few months ago, it left him with some brain damage, but he’s lonely so I said I would be his …wingman.”

“That is far more tragic than I was anticipating.” Erica said. “I was hoping for some sordid love story I could experience vicariously.”

Jason took another swig of his beer, he was feeling much more comfortable now. “Not enough drama in your life? Well, Dickie has more than enough for all of us. He has no filter on his mouth and keeps blurting out rude, inappropriate shit. It hurts to watch.”

“The poor boy.”

“Poor people he’s hitting on, you mean. It’s them I feel bad for.” He gave her a speculative look – one that wasn’t quite serious. “It’s a long shot, but I don’t suppose you would be interested in a hot, brain-damaged guy with verbal diarrhea?”

She laughed. “Sorry handsome, I like my men like I like my women.”

“And how’s that?” Jason smirked.

“Big, butch and sharp as fuck.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to laugh. “Yeah? And have you found such a person?”

“I have,” she smiled, a warm, private smile. “Although she’s the opposite of my physical type, somehow I still married her. I think she’s a wizard.”

Jason snorted. “And she doesn’t mind you chatting up random men in bars? I don’t want to get turned into a frog.”

“Nah, she gave me some good guidelines” Erica gestured wildly, beer in hand. Her voice went up a register and took on a New York accent. “On your road-trip through life, you can check out all the cool signs along the way, just remember they’re not written in braille.”

Jason smirked, “Look but don’t touch?

“Exactly.” 

He laughed again. He hadn’t felt so good, so much like himself, since the explosion. “Thank you,” he said. And he meant it.

“For what?”

He didn’t have the words, so he just shook his head and clinked his glass with hers. Feeling slightly overwhelmed. He turned back to Dick – just in time to hear the tail end of his conversation.

“So you think I’m hot?” The guy said, with a smile. He was attractive, with white blond hair, sharp features, and a cheeky smile. Jason held his breath, waiting for Dick’s answer.

“You really are,” Dick said, doing that big-eyed sultry thing, “You’re very hot. Although your friend is hotter.”

Erica made a face “Ohhh,” she said, as Jason’s head smacked the table. “I see your problem."

 

Jason wiped at the martini all over Dick’s shirt, and Dick just looked miserable. Jason wished he was more drunk, he needed to be more drunk for this stuff.

“It’s not the scar is it?” Dick asked. The tone of his voice indicated he knew the answer already. “I’m just a horrible person. Was I always this awful and I just didn’t realize?”

 

“No, Dick. You’re still the good, kind person you always were, you just don’t have the same restraints on your words and actions anymore. Anybody would have the same problem in this situation.”

“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.” 

“I know.” 

“You don’t!” Dick was hitting anger levels that often resulted in stabbing. And Jason, to his great shame, flinched. 

Dick expression crumpled. From rage to misery in a millisecond. 

“This isn’t who I am! I don’t even recognize myself anymore!” Dick’s voice broke and Jason put an awkward hand on his shoulder. His own feelings were so tangled in this mess. 

“Maybe this just isn’t the right way for you to meet people. For a start, drinking lowers your inhibitions, and that’s the last thing you need when you have no filter on your mouth!”

“But-”

“- _But_ ,” Jason interrupted, “but - maybe you need to suck it up, and see the therapist Bruce found for you.”

“No!”

“Yes! You’re worse than I ever was! Stop being so stupid about this. You want to control your mouth? You need to learn, and for that you need help.”

Dick looked somewhere between distraught and enraged and Jason was braced for a fight, when Erica broke in. “I know how you feel.” She paused and took a pull on her bottle of beer. “Obviously I don’t know exactly how you feel, but I do understand the separation you’re experiencing. That thing that divides the way you act and the way you feel. And the emotion you get when you suddenly realize you have done something awful.”

Dick cocked his head, and Jason saw his muscles get tense, like he was ready to run, or to attack. And Jason’s own body started pumping adrenalin in response. 

But Dick just leant forward. “Why? How do you know that? How can you feel it, unless you have experienced it?” The question was clearly doubtful, but also so hopeful.

Erica gave them a sly, bitter grin, it was more pain than anger. “I had a _problem_. I lost my job, I thought I was at the end of my rope. But things changed, my friend put me in touch with Speak Out – it’s a program for queers dealing with mental illness. I work for them now.”

“And it’s helped you?” Jason asked. There was an itchy feeling under his skin. He wanted to get back to a place he had been. He wanted to feel like he was part of something more than just being Dick’s answer service and occasional punching bag.

“It’s made a huge difference to me. I write a blog, I reach people. Of course, I have good days and bad days, but knowing I’m being useful, knowing I’m there for people who need it? That’s something that will always make me feel good.” She grinned at Dick, and then cut her eyes at Jason, her smile suddenly warm and knowing. Jason grinned right back at her. He could understand what she was saying in a way that touched him deeply. 

“But I’m not mentally ill.” Dick broke in, his head cocked to the other side. 

“No, but your experience is close enough to mine for me to understand some of the things you might feel.” 

Dick was looking at her like he was drowning and she was his one chance at reaching the shore. Jason couldn’t watch that expression on his face, so he excused himself to hit the head. 

In the bathroom he waited for a stall rather than just using the urinals, he didn’t want anyone looking at him while he pissed. Dick’s words rang in his mind _‘I don’t even recognize myself anymore!’_ that was how he felt too. Who the fuck was this man crippled with self doubt and shame? It wasn’t him; it wasn’t Jason Peter Todd. He was stuck in the mud and sinking fast, the inevitable suffocation at the end of the slippery slide was half terrifying and half a feeling of vague relief. 

But not now, now he had to go back out there and insure Dick hadn’t strangled their new friend.

He hadn’t. To Jason’s great relief, they were discussing the differences and similarities between mental illness and brain damage. Jason didn’t participate, he just watched and marveled at the quick wit they flung about. It was so good to see Dick interacting normally with someone at last. It helped that when he said something off color, Erica just tactfully ignored it. 

The rest of the evening was pleasant, and Jason got a good buzz going and chatted with Erica while Dick danced to the pounding beat like a creature possessed. When it was time for them to head home Erica gave them both a hug and a business card with her number. Then they caught a cab back up-town. 

By the time they staggered into the elevator of their apartment, Jason’s head was starting to ache and Dick was visibly sagging, his burst of energy and enthusiasm had clearly waned. 

PB did a wild dance of excitement at the sight of them, and Dick listlessly flipped open the cage door as he passed. PB scurried out like some freakish partially feathered lizard and followed Dick to the kitchen. 

Jason was suddenly exhausted. And he was drunk. And his stump hurt because being drunk effected his coordination, and that put extra pressure on it when he walked. He waved a goodnight to Dick and headed for his room. The majority of the evening had been a disaster, with the exception of Erica and the possibilities she had brought up – the potential of doing something productive with his life. That was what he and Dick were missing, they had both been vigilantes since childhood - and fighting the good fight was the only thing they knew. Without it, there was a gaping void. Dick needed to be needed, he wanted to help people to such an extent that with his day job as a cop, he had been fighting crime at least 18 hours a day. Now he thought about it, that was actually pretty crazy, and probably not very healthy.

Erica had given him hope though, obviously writing for a blog wasn’t going to be his thing, but it had opened the floor to speculation about other possibilities – Private Investigator? Coordinator of a vigilantly team? Oracle controlled Gotham, she had mentored the baby Batgirls - now fully fledged and awesome in there own right. Maybe he could offer something similar elsewhere? He would have to think about it when less drunk. 

 

Jason hauled himself to bed and set about applying cream to his stump – the skin was red and sore, and his thigh ached from the pressure of having walked for miles on the stupid prosthetic. 

Then Dick proved once again that he had no boundaries at all, and burst into Jason’s room dressed only in his boxers and a parrot.

"What have I told you about knocking?" Jason snarled at him, covering his legs with the blanket in embarrassment - he didn’t like people looking, not even Dick.

“I don’t want to be on my own." 

Jason flopped back against his pillow and put his hands over his eyes, he just couldn’t take any more emoting this evening. Dick somehow took that agitated gesture to be one of invitation and clambered on the bed with him, PB in tow. 

"Thanks Jason, I’ll be quiet, promise."

Yeah, right.

Dick shuffled around, making himself comfortable, and Jason dared to hope he might just fall asleep. But no.

"Sometime I think about flying," Dick said. 

Jason grunted, not feeling up to a response, he didn’t want to think about shit he couldn’t even do any more.

“And sometimes I think about jumping from the roof without a line,” Dick continued quietly. 

And now Jason _had_ to wake up and pay attention. "Don’t you dare, Richard John Grayson, don’t you even think about it. Or I will hunt you down in the afterlife and make you marathon reruns of Animal Rescue Cops just to watch you cry." 

That startled a laugh out of Dick and he shuffled closer. “I won’t, I _wouldn’t_. But I do think about it. I’ve been depressed before, but nothing quite as hopeless as this. I mean just look at tonight, I’m a horrible person, I just can’t control it. I don’t even feel like an asshole at the time, I just feel normal till I see their face. Then I know its bad, but I don’t always recognize what I said wrong.”

“It’s hard, I know that, but you can learn to control it, a bit at least.” Jason offered. He felt like he just gave the same advise again and again. 

Dick shrugged, “I just feel that apart from you I’m alone here. Even my friends avoid me.”

“Babs doesn’t, you avoid her. And Roy doesn’t, he said there wasn’t much of a difference between old you and new you, even after you punched him in the face.” 

“That’s just how me and Roy communicate." Dick grinned, but then the expression slipped off his face. “It is different though. He hasn’t brought Lian over since it happened."

Jason couldn’t deny that, but he couldn’t blame Roy for it either. “Well, I find your new blunt and uncompromising attitude refreshing.” 

Dick gave him a disbelieving look.

Jason shrugged. “We could never have lived together before, I didn’t even like you then. But now I find you quite tolerable.” 

“You find me regularly attacking and insulting you tolerable and refreshing?”

"Yeah, well, not the violence bit, but you don’t lie or bullshit, I prefer that in a person. I mean, if someone asks you if their ass looks fat in their jeans you tell them the truth. And then offer unsolicited fashion advice. It’s refreshing and often amusing.” 

“I didn’t give you unsolicited fashion advice!” Dick snapped, but then seemed to reconsider. “Okay, maybe I did, you didn’t even ask if your butt was fat – but you wouldn’t stop looking at it in the mirror so I just figured you were worried about it.” 

“And then you told me I didn’t have enough of an ass to make it an issue because I was still underweight.”

“You were looking at your butt in the mirror for ten minutes!”

“I was checking to see if I could see the outline of my prosthetic! And then after your lovely comment about my weight, you told me that I shouldn’t wear my khaki cargo pants because they washed me out and made me look like I was still a corpse. And then you laughed your self silly over your very witty reference to me having been dead.”

Dick winced. “See, that’s awful! Why don’t you hate me for that?”

“Because I did die, and you’re the only person who doesn’t flinch away from it. I died, I was reborn. That’s part of me. Although you have no right to give me fashion advice, because you look like you choose your daily outfits by falling into your closet and seeing what sticks.”

Dick huffed at him, but he seemed more amused than upset, and they lay in comfortable silence for a while. 

"We need to make a change," Jason said eventually, voicing some of the thoughts he’d had earlier. "We need to stop just existing and start living again."

Dick nodded, and Jason could feel his hair brushing his cheek. The little sneak had scooted up until he was centimeters from Jason’s body. Jason considered telling him to move back to his own side, but then figured it wouldn’t make much difference as Dick would be back where he was in matter of minutes. 

Dick let out a forlorn, beer-scented sigh and propped himself up on one elbow. “I’ve been trying Jason. That’s what tonight was all about. I want to start making connections again - with people who don’t look at me like I’m just the shell of a person they used to love.”

"Then thats what you need to do, Dick. Make connections - don’t confuse that need with sex. It’s fine to hit on people and try to get laid, although you might want to work on your technique. But maybe as well as that you need to be looking for friends on a more casual basis? Interact with people, do something you enjoy - something that makes you feel alive.” 

“I liked being a cop, I liked being Nightwing! But I can’t do that any more!"

Jason attempted to pry away off Dick’s hand, away from where it had become entangled in his shirt. “I know, but there must be other things you can do. You have so many talents, and despite recent issues, you’re a good person at heart. Not many people are."

Dick looked down at him with a warm expression on his face. “You’re so nice, Jason. How come you don’t have a girlfriend? You’re hot too. Hell, if you were gay I would totally do you.”

“Gee, thanks Dick.” 

“I’m not kidding. Why don’t you have an awesome girlfriend? Or like, at least a sordid history of one night stands?” Dick was all up in his face again, and PB seemed to want in on the action - he scuttled onto Dick’s shoulder and stared intently at Jason with his beady bird eyes. Creeper.

“I’ve had plenty of action, Dickface, I just don’t date within the Superdouche community, so you never hear about it.”

“Why don’t you date superheroes and vigilantes? We’re all so hot!” Dick sounded somewhere between amused and outraged.

Jason gave him a flat look that was spoiled by a tiny smile that just wouldn’t stay hidden. “Because you’re all fucking gossips. And you all come with more baggage than an international airport.”

“That’s half the fun!”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Dickie. And put the parrot to bed. It’s not sleeping in here.”

Dick had grumped, and PB had protested loudly, but eventually the light was turned off and Jason had eased a tiny gap between himself and Dick – that was all the personal space he ever got these days, but it was enough to let him sleep.

Then Dick reached out a hand and patted his chest. “I mean it Jay, you’re lovely. I always knew you were, under all the asshatary.”

“You’re such a charmer.”

“You should find someone. I would date you in a heartbeat if you were into dudes. Especially ones with brain-damage and quirky parrots.”

“Shut up, Dick.” Jason muttered. 

Dick sniggered and finally settled down to sleep, his hand still splayed irritatingly against Jason’s breastbone. 

Jason’s brain wouldn’t let him follow into sleep though, it was twisting madly with chaotic thoughts – what should he have said to that? What could he say? I’ve always been a little gay for you? I would totally do you too, if I could get it up?

And that was the awful truth: when they had taken his leg, they had also somehow broken his penis. He couldn’t get hard. Even when he was revisiting his best memories, or his most sordid fantasies, even that secret guilty one about a threesome with Donna and Kory, or the even guiltier one where Roy and Dick joined in. Porn did nothing but make him frustrated. And the thought of picking someone up and seeing if that worked filled him with panicky horror. He just couldn’t take the humiliation – a fact that made him angry. Jason had prided himself on not being the kind of man who let himself be led by his cock. His identity didn’t hinge on his sexual prowess, and his penis and its functionality did not dictate who he was.

Or, it hadn’t. Now these feelings of humiliation and inadequacy were messing with his self-image, not just in the literal, embarrassingly impotent side of things, but also with the way he viewed himself. Who was this person who had become afraid of his own body? Who was so disconnected from it?

What was so different about his burn scars compared to his other scars?

The answer came at him out of the dark, and struck him a blow that made him gasp.

Guilt. 

Shame.

Regret.

Fear.

Sometimes self-knowledge didn’t feel helpful, and at times like these his doubt and fear crippled him more than any physical injury. 

At times like these, he often thought about jumping without a line too.


	10. Chapter 10

Jason was dreaming. Dick had his fingers on his face, his nails digging into skin, pulling at Jason’s mouth and nose. “I can see what you did, Jason. It’s written all over your lying face. Maybe if I take your eyes next, it will make me feel better," Dick said. 

Jason struggled; he had been sure this was a dream, but he should have been able to wake by now -the pain was mild, but getting stronger. Could you even feel pain while you slept? 

“I’ll spin you right round baby, right round," Dick sang at him in a strange voice.

He snapped into wakefulness. It was dark and music was playing in the background - hits of the 80’s, Dick currant favorite torture device-but the pain was still there, pulling at Jason’s nose and mouth. There was something _on_ his face. Was he still asleep? Panicked, Jason swung his arm out wildly and scrabbled for the bedside lamp. He finally flicked it on, to reveal a close up of parrot. PB was staring disdainfully into his eyes, the bird was standing on his chin and mouth. Jason gawked at it, and PB hooked a claw into his nostril and casually resumed peering up his nose.

Jason wasn’t even ashamed of the earsplitting shriek that exploded out of him.

 

"No parrots in my room!”

"But-"

“No! I don’t want him anywhere unsupervised, Dick! He could have ripped my face off!"

Dick was giving him a surly, doubtful look. PB had left nothing more than a small red mark and a new bird-related phobia, but Jason was well aware that its razor sharp beak could have made mincemeat out of his face if it had wanted to. 

"Sorry Jason," Dick said, insincerely. 

Jason made an inarticulate noise of frustration and retreated back to his room - this time making sure the door was firmly shut. Things _had_ to change.

 

Strangely, over the next week, they did. There was a subtle shift in Dick’s behavior, barely noticeable at first. He stopped hitting the bars and he seemed to be seeking out Jason’s company, and only occasionally verbally abused him. 

Three mornings in a row Dick woke him up with a cup of tea - an addiction Jason had picked up from Alfred during his youth. Admittedly the quality of the tea varied, as did the time it was delivered. The first morning, Dick had forgotten to boil the kettle before pouring the water, the second time it was four fifteen in the morning and the last thing Jason wanted to see was Dick’s grinning face and the stupid parrot on his shoulder. 

Then there was the enthusiastic movie nights – some of which started at lunch time and extended well into the evening. They seemed to involve the eating of snack foods and an uncomfortable amount of snuggling.

If it hadn’t been so weird, Jason would have felt like it was progress. Maybe he was being unfair; Dick not using him as a punching bag three times a day was definitely an improvement. 

 

Of course Tim had to get involved and destroy all his hopeful illusions.

It started on a day that was already proving to be shitty. Jason had experienced a particularly painful and embarrassing night, and was feeling a bit low on the awesome scale. Dick was once again indulging in playing the same four songs on repeat and Jason had taken the opportunity to escape to his room for his Skype chess date. 

Tim didn’t look happy to see him, and Jason was momentarily offended until the prissy little Bat pointed at his new set of bruises. 

“That mark on your forehead, did he hit you again?” Tim was starting to show signs of concern even through his carefully constructed casual demeanor. His face got more and more worried as Jason wrestled with whether Dick smacking him around was more or less shameful than the truth. He briefly considered lying, but that felt too wrong, like he was blaming Dick for something he hadn’t done. This time at least.

“I fell over,” he managed at last. 

Tim didn’t look convinced. 

“I fucking fell over, ok?” Jason snapped. He could feel his face going red, the flush reaching down his neck. “I fell off the bed. Sometimes I wake up and I need a piss and I forget.” God, he wished he hadn’t said that. He wished he could pretend he was coping better than he was. 

Tim’s eyes widened and Jason severed the Skype connection. Forgetting he was missing a fucking leg and face planting on the floor was not an experience he had intended to share. The shame _burned_ him.

He was struggling with how to deal with Tim next time they spoke; pretend Skype cut out accidentally? Pretend nothing had happened at all? Make a joke? Shoot Tim? Shoot himself?

Maybe he would take pity on Jason and not mention it at all. It could happen. Despite Tim’s obvious concern and occasional Machiavellian manipulations, he was generally pretty respectful. 

 

But Jason just wasn’t that lucky. It was only an hour later when Tim turned up at the door - Damian in tow. Sometimes Jason’s life was like living in the worst sitcom ever. 

Dick was excited to see them. Tim hugged him back tightly and even Damian stood still and allowed himself to be squashed in a bear hug. 

PB was not impressed with these strangers touching his people, and he stalked forward, scabby wings extended threateningly and hissing his displeasure. 

Tim looked vaguely horrified to finally meet the bird in the underwhelming flesh, And Damian had a look of profound disgust on his face as he watched PB’s territorial posturing. Jason instantly forgave the parrot for his resent sins - the comedy value alone made up for the trauma. 

“Hey,” Tim said in greeting, "I thought maybe we could try chess in person for once."

Jason didn’t believe it for a moment and raised one bruised eyebrow. 

Tim turned to Damian, who was attempting to dislodge the parrot that had attached its self wrathfully to his boot. “Damian, why don’t you let Dick give you a tour while we play.” 

Damian looked at the open doorway to Dick’s room – there were piles of clothes and random debris visible from all the way across the hall. He shot a disbelieving, almost betrayed look at Tim, but by then Dick had latched onto both the idea, and Damian’s arm. The boy was a goner. 

Dick looked ecstatic, Tim looked smug – smug, with a dirty under layer of evil. 

Damian just looked like a man condemned. 

 

Ignoring the assumed ulterior motive, Jason pulled up a second chair next to his chess table. Although they could play with a virtual board, he had discovered that both he and Tim held a mutual affection for using real pieces. Tim had a beautifully carved, immaculate set (although he had also confessed to owning a Harry Potter one), whereas Jason’s was a weathered second hand board, the pieces worn from use. Jason was very fond of it, although it had survived PB about as well as his headphones had. The white king had been gnawed on by a sharp parrot beak, and one of the pawns was MIA after PB’s Godzilla impression across the board had ended in all out man vs. parrot warfare. 

"So do you actually want to play? Or would you rather just skip to the real reason you’re here?" Jason asked.

"That obvious?"

Jason gave him an unimpressed look. “Yeah. And we better hurry up before one of those two highly strung drama queens out there commits fratricide."

“I was just wondering how you were doing." 

“You needed to come all the way over here for that?" Jason didn’t bother to keep the contempt from his voice. 

“No. But I was talking to Bruce-" 

"-never a good way to start up a conversation with me, Tabitha."

Now it was Tim’s turn to give him a look, but then he went back to his attempt at being completely blank faced - although tempered slightly with discomfort. “Yeah, I’m aware. He implied that you were allowing Dick to get away with behavior that you normally wouldn’t." 

Jason waved a hand angrily. “I know his stupid theory, BatBrat. Either you have something new to add, or you can just piss the hell off."

"I do have something to add, actually. Something I don’t think Bruce knows.” 

That sounded ominous.

Tim looked very uncomfortable. “I’m sure its nothing, but I felt I should to talk to you in person. The phone didn’t seem right." He shot Jason a look from under his lashes, and Jason was one hundred percent sure what he meant was ‘I will read you better in person then manipulate you more efficiently.’ 

Having said that, all traces of smugness were long gone, Tim looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin with discomfort. Jason pounced on it like a terrier on a rat. “And you’re hating every second of this conversation aren’t you? What’s got your panties in such a bunch?" When Jason was feeling uncomfortable, it was only fair everyone else was too. 

“Yes," Tim admitted ruefully. “You have no idea how uncomfortable I am, on _so_ many levels."

"So this big awkward issue is...?"

Tim shifted a bit and cast a quick glance towards the door. “I’m breaking a confidence talking to you about this. At least I think I am - I feel like I am.”

"Whose?"

"Dick’s. We talk on the phone a couple of times a week. When he remembers, and when he doesn’t hang up on me, or leave the phone somewhere so I am talking to an empty room."

Jason chuckled. Dick absentmindedly put his phone down all over the place, even when he was still talking on it. Jason was forever insincerely apologizing to irate people still yelling down the line. 

"So?" he prompted, when Tim didn’t immediately continue.

"Dick has developed a _crush_ on you,” Tim blurted. “Like, a slightly obsessive fixation. I read that this can happen – I mean, you saved him, you except him, you’re with him all the time.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.” Jason said, he was impressed he sounded so calm, when in reality he was reeling. 

“Yeah, ok, its weird and I could live my whole life without ever hearing him describe how sexy you are again. _Ever_ again."

Jason opened his mouth but couldn’t decide what to say. That was kind of a shock, and he was massively weirded out by the fact Dick had been waxing poetic over him to _Tim_ of all people. But it did kind of explain Dick’s change in behavior towards him. 

“I’ll spare you the details," Tim said, still not quite meeting his eyes. "But in light of my own and Bruce’s observations, I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t pushing you into doing something you didn’t want to do."

“Are suggesting I would let that brain-damaged fuckwit _molest_ me out of some misplaced need to self harm? Because you assholes need to get it through your tiny, stupid minds that I am not some damsel in distress! I’m not weak willed, I’m not broken or fucking damaged in the way you seem to think I fucking am!” Jason flung an arm at the chess set, scattering the pieces across the floor. He was breathing hard and his fists were clenched.

Tim sat and watched him, blank faced and unflinching. The bastard. Sometimes he was so like Bruce that Jason wanted to beat him to death. "Get out" he snarled, but Tim didn’t even twitch.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" Tim asked after a long moment. “A man who’s drowning." He still had that impassive expression on his face, like Jason’s anger was just rolling off him. Hard to remember this was the dorky kid that nearly peed his pants over some stupid game mod Babs had created for him. 

"I don’t _drown_ , I’m a strong fucking swimmer," Jason snapped. It was supposed to be a powerful statement, but he just sounded like a moron, even to himself. 

Drowning. Yeah, that hit the nail on the head. 

“You’re drowning in _guilt_ , Jason.”

That made Jason’s breath catch and a chill run down his spine. He had worried about Bruce discovering the truth, but he had foolishly discounted Tim, with his brutally sharp mind and sneaky, strategizing chess skills.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about," Jason managed, hoping his face was as blank as his voice.

"Survivors guilt. That’s what Bruce thinks it is. You feel you need to be punished for not saving Dick in one piece." Tim’s expression was carefully neutral.

Was he subtly telling Jason he knew? What was he going to do with that information if he did? Or was Jason being paranoid and Tim was saying exactly what he meant?

Jason could feel adrenaline suddenly flood his body, the tension building. And for one ridiculous moment he thought he was going to pass out. Jason Todd did not _faint_ when stressed. He could look down the barrel of a gun, come face to face with his own murderer- and yet, here he was, dizzy and panicked because of words that _might_ mean something. 

He was saved from embarrassment when his bedroom door flew open and Damian marched in.

“It’s not Grayson," he said. “It’s not him!" His back was ramrod straight and his chin was tilted so high he was practically looking down his own nose - a classic Damian sign of distress. 

“It’s still Dick," Jason told him.

Damian shock his head, mouth pulled tight. 

“It is," Jason insisted. “Yesterday he ate a peanut-butter, ham, cornflake and ketchup sandwich, and he danced round the house whilst listening to the world’s most obnoxious pop music." Jason didn’t mention that he had listened to the same song 37 times, until Jason was driven out of his mind and had been forced to murder the CD with extreme prejudice. "Then he cried over ‘Animal Rescue Cops’ and spent an hour phoning in tips to ‘Americas Most Wanted’ until I had to take the phone away. He’s sill _Dick_. But _you_ need to be more careful how you deal with him.” 

"How’d you mean?" Damian asked, he looked pissy, but his eyes were desperate and hopeful, and Jason really felt for the kid. This must be devastating for him.

"He can’t control his emotional reactions to things - so _you_ have to change the way you act. You have to be calm and understanding. If he says shitty things, ignore it, or let him know carefully and gently why what he said was inappropriate.”

“And that’s what you do?” Damian asked skeptically. 

“I try.”

“He’s still not the same.”

Jason rubbed at his bruised forehead. He was so used to Dick now, and he was comfortable with the changes, despite his guilt, but it must be very difficult for the rest of them to understand. Especially, it seemed, for Damian and Bruce. Dick was more than just a friend or a part of the family, he had represented something to them; the very _essence_ of family, of being steadfast and _there_ for them no matter what. It must be an incredibly hard thing to lose and let go of. But they did have to let go, they had to build something new. 

“He’s never going to be the same, Damian. He’s changed. If you want a relationship with him, then you have to accept that, and you have to change with him. He needs you and he loves you in the same soppy way he did before, but if you can’t hack it – you need to back the hell off before you hurt him further.”

Damian looked momentarily stricken, but then he appeared thoughtful. He was at least as stubborn as his dad, but Jason felt he had gotten though to him on some level. 

“So,” Jason changed the subject, “how’d you get away from him?"

“I distracted him, obviously." Damian’s voice had lost the tense edge and returned to its normal annoying tones. The kid was strong enough to deal with this, Jason was sure of it. He just needed some time. 

As if on cue the sudden frantic cry of: “Motherfucker! Goddamn peace of shit! Motherfucker!” Started bellowing from the living room, liberally sprinkled by enraged parrot shrieking.

"What the hell did you do?” Jason asked, without ire. Damian looked smug and Jason ushered him towards the door, already resigned to sorting out whatever drama Dick and his stupid bird where causing. He glanced at Tim as he passed; his pale blue eyes were narrowed as he watched them, a thoughtful but otherwise inscrutable expression on his face. Creepy bastard.

Dick was in the middle of the living room holding PB upside-down and inspecting his feathery backside. 

"Motherfucker!" PB yelled as he caught sight of Jason. “ _Clunk fizz, clunk fizz!_ " 

Jason couldn’t help feeling like the bird was using the beer opening noise to personally beg him for help. 

"Dick?" Jason asked mildly, "what are you doing?"

"Checking to see if PB is a boy or a girl. Damian said that it’s really hard to tell with parrots."

“It is," Tim interjected smoothly. “You can’t tell externally, you have to do a DNA test. We can arrange one if you want?"

Dick looked at him and grinned, upside down parrot momentarily forgotten in his hand.

"You always have an answer for everything, don’t you, little brother?"

"Naturally." Tim smiled back. 

Dick reached to pull him into a hug and Jason skillfully took possession of the parrot while he was distracted. PB clung angrily to Jason’s sleeve, still making the _clunk fizz_ noise he seemed to associate with Jason. He petted its grizzled head and the bird made a pleased whistle. 

Tim was giving him that look again. 

 

Six hours - three broken cups, several squabbles, a large quantity of ice cream, a game of Mario kart that almost ended in violence and a forgiving snuggling session between Dick and PB- later, and the bat brats took their leave.

It had, despite Jason’s anxiety, been a successful afternoon. Dick had been happy for the most part, and Damian had seemed less devastated when they finally left, promising to come back at the weekend to help Dick with reorganizing his room (an area Jason privately referred to as the pit of despair.)

Jason was exhausted, from both stress and with the effort of keeping his temper with everyone. Why was he suddenly the sensible level-headed member of the family? Since when did he start considering himself a member of the family at all?

"Jay?" Dick asked, from where he was curled on the couch like an overgrown cat.

"Hmm" Jason grunted. He was working up the energy to get up and wash the dishes before bed. 

"Can I sleep in with you again?"

"No, Dick."

"Please? I slept so much better with you."

"No."

 

Jason was still awake at two am and Dick’s miserable face was haunting him. He just seemed so lonely and defeated. Although that could have just been Jason projecting - Dick’s moods changed faster than lighting. 

Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore and he hauled himself out of bed, put his stupid leg on, and stumbled into the living room. Dick was still on the sofa, still despondent and blankly watching a late night talk show. 

“Shove up, Dick.”

Dick shifted until Jason could sit beside him comfortably. “You ok?"

Dick shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”

“I don’t think you’ve tried.”

“Don’t want to. I don’t want to dream. And I don’t want to wake and have that moment before I realize everything is _wrong_. The person I was is gone, my family is grieving for him, and I can’t help. Everything I do just makes it worse.” 

It just broke Jason’s heart. He reached out and drew Dick into a hug, and his idiot pseudo brother leaned into him, suddenly boneless, and achingly sad. 

“I see you, Dickie.”

“I know. That means everything to me right now.”

“Does it?” Jason dithered back and forth for a moment before opting for bluntness – it’s what Dick gave him, and he appreciated it - it was only fair to offer the same in return. “Do you have a thing for me? A crush?” The word sounded stupid and Jason felt himself flush. Although thankfully, Dick was welded to his bicep and couldn’t see. 

“I… Yeah.” Dick said. “You’re all I have. You’re my rock, my center, you accept me for who I am. You don’t look at me like I’m some sort of walking eulogy for the man I used to be. You see _me_. Of _course_ I love you.” Dick shrugged and kissed Jason’s shoulder. “You’re super hot too, that also helps. All big and broad.” He ran an approving finger across the top of Jason’s chest. 

Jason had known he would tell the truth, but still Dick’s words sent such conflicting feelings through him – he was flattered, disbelieving, doubtful, guilty, needy - almost dizzy with _feeling_. But he didn’t know what to say, or what to do, so he hugged Dick a little tighter and changed the subject. 

“We’re both in limbo here. People in stupid situations like ours can get carried away. But I think if we want to make shit better for ourselves, then we got to make a change. A real one, not just talk.”

“Like what?” Dick’s breath was warm against his skin, and Jason had to swallow hard. 

“Structure, a routine for you, so you can relearn remembering shit – like not leaving the taps or the gas on.”

“I have the great big note you stuck on the oven.”

“Yeah, but you need more – it has to be automatic like any routine is.”

“Ok, we can try. I want to try.”

“Also, if you’re not willing to see a therapist, can we attempt to work through your self help recovery books together?” Who the fuck would have guessed the Red fucking Hood would suggest something so ridiculous? So sentimental, so sensible, and _sappy_?

“Ok,” Dick nodded, “If you help.”

“I will.”

“What about you?” Dick was giving him a big eyed look from under his lashes, but the grip he had on Jason’s hand was firm to the point of painful – his intensity was _punishing_.

“Me?” Jason collected his thoughts – during the points he had been wallowing in his own misery, he had also been thinking about his words to Damian, about change, and about how those words had shaped him, even before he had shared them. 

He had to accept what had happened, he couldn’t change it.

But he could change _himself_ , he could adapt. He could survive. And Jason had always been a survivor, and so had Dick. 

He thought about what he needed, what he felt about himself, his doubt, his guilt, and his hatred for his stump and the uncomfortable prosthetic. “I’m going to read up on prostheses. I’m never going to be how I was, but if I’m going to have to have a false leg, then it’s going to be a goddamn part of me. I’m going to design it, I’m going to _own_ it.”

Dick grinned like the devil. It was clear he was thrilled by Jason’s decision - and his zeal. This was a good idea, Jason was sick of feeling like a victim – no matter what other people thought, he had never been a fucking victim. He was a _survivor_.

Dick poked him in the shoulder. “So, will your new leg have little flip out machine guns to blow peoples knee-caps off?

Jason grinned. “Well, _now_ it will.” 

 

Now was the time things were going to change.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Vomit.

Jason was surprised and pleased to find that the self-help workbooks and advice manuals for people with traumatic brain injury were both easy to read and very informative. They gave tips not only for the person afflicted with the injury, but also for the friends and family who shared their lives. As a result of all this useful information, Jason suffered a brief, foolish spasm of hope- but of course working through the books with _Dick_ was something of a challenge. 

 

They started with an easy one: Organization. 

The plan was to de-clutter, then figure out a routine that would give Dick some structure in his day and help him remember important things like brushing his teeth and where he put his shoes. 

The book then recommended labeling cupboards and drawers that might be confusing. Jason hoped that would cut down on the cussing and noise that accompanied Dick attempting to find his breakfast or his socks. 

Another suggestion was leaving things like keys in the same place every day. So some hooks went up on the wall and a checklist was pinned to the front door. It read:

Do you have:  
Keys?  
Phone?  
Wallet?  
Coat? [if you need one]  
Shoes?  
Memory pad?

Have you:   
Brushed your hair?  
Brushed your teeth?  
Gotten fully dressed? [no repeat of the no-pants incident plz]  
Turned off the gas/other appliances you were using  
Put PB in his cage  
Left PB with sufficient food and water  
DON’T FORGET TO LOCK THE FRONT DOOR

The memory pad held all Dick’s important data – names, numbers and addresses (including his own) He had another copy of this information on his phone and yet another in his wallet - better safe than sorry. The memory pad also included all the tasks and information for the day - Jason helped to write out his schedule every evening to make things easier for the following morning. 

So far, so good. It seemed to work on a basic day-to-day level and Dick was happy and enthusiastic. 

 

He was less enthusiastic about the rest of the advice. Especially: Dealing With Inappropriate Behavior. 

The book was actually pretty sympathetic towards both of their predicaments; as patient and as a care-giver. And Jason read the first paragraph out loud to Dick in order to ease the way:

_If the person affected by the TBI [Traumatic Brain Injury] says or does something inappropriate, remain calm and don’t berate them. Expressing sexuality is healthy and shouldn’t be demonized. However it is important to tell them gently why it was inappropriate or offensive. This is especially vital with overtly sexual behavior such as masturbation in a public place or touching people sexually without permission. The lack of impulse control can be a challenge in this regard and it may help to make a list of personalized ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ to work through during your memory excesses._

Sounded like a good idea, despite Dick’s grumbling, but as Jason surveyed their final list, Dick’s grumpy face, and angry clenched fists, he did wonder if they had gone over board with the don’ts. Dick didn’t seem to have appreciated the trip through his greatest brain damage disasters. It was also possible that Jason’s frustration had bled over into the list a little tiny bit. 

 

‘Dos:

Do think before you speak - when you have something to say, first run it over in your head, could it be rude?

Do enjoy your sexuality in your own room or a private area

Do explain your difficulties to people - write it down in advance if necessary

Do be aware people can be hurt by your comments and react badly 

 

Don’ts

Don’t booty call your ex’s, especially those who are now in other relationships or have violently destructive superpowers. It will only end in tears or death threats.

Don’t touch people without permission. 

Don’t touch yourself sexually in public. [Or in the living room, or kitchen, or when we’re watching TV. And don’t do it while with PB, I don’t care what you think, or what you think _he_ thinks: its weird.]

Don’t jerk off on my stuff. Buy yourself some goddamn porn or use the Internet like a normal person. [My copies of Guns and Ammo are not porn! Not even for me!]

Don’t hit on inappropriate people. Like Superman, or Selina, or the woman from 36b - she has told you 700 times that she is happily married. A restraining order would be awkward as we live in the same building. 

Don’t touch Bruce on the upper thigh. Even when it is not intended sexually it is not appropriate. And as funny as it was making the Batman squeak, it is not good for his image.

Never say Slade Wilson is ‘kind of hot’ in my presence _ever_ again, even qualified by ‘if he wasn’t evil,’ it is still disturbing. Some sexual fantasies should never see the light of day. 

Don’t watch me while I sleep, it is beyond creepy and if I wake unexpectedly I might shoot you.’

 

Dick scowled across the couch at him. Jason had felt it best to put a little space between the two of them as they reviewed the list.

“I did not say Slade Wilson was sexy, just that he had an intimidating presence and an impressive physique,” Dick said sullenly. 

“Uh-huh. In other words, you think he’s hot. And I quoted you verbatim, no matter how you try to pretty it up now.”

“Liar,” Dick muttered. “And Bruce did not squeak, he just grunted and jumped a little.” 

“You think he’s ok with you touching up his legs? Go for it, knock yourself out. But try to avoid it when he is either suited up or in public – did you _see_ the article the Gotham Gazette ran about the two of you last week? I haven’t laughed so much in years, I have a copy mounted on my wall.” 

Dick glared, his lips forming a sullen pout. “You think it’s so funny, then what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is that I appear to be your answering service and had to put up with angry ranting from the whole family like it was somehow my fault!”

“I’m sorry, okay!” Dick yelled. 

He didn’t sound very sorry, but Jason knew he was. Knowing he was hurting his loved ones was obviously very painful for Dick - but unfortunately that pain translated itself into anger and Dick was showing all the signs of an imminent explosion. 

It was time to put the next chapter they had discussed into play.

“Dick, Time Out.”

Time Outs were designed to allow Dick to cool off when his anger levels rose to dangerous levels. The book gave tips for him to recognize his own growing tension, but it also suggested other people could ask for them if the TBI sufferer didn’t pick up on their own emotional responses. 

Dick looked murderous for a moment. That was to be expected.

“Please?” Jason asked hopefully. Sometimes talking to him like he was a spooked horse actually worked. 

Dick nodded and backed off slowly, then he made his way to his room, fists still clenched. But it was progress! Jason felt ridiculously proud of them both. 

It worked about six out of ten times – but those four times it didn’t work tended towards catastrophic. 

 

The next day there was one of those catastrophic ones.

“Time out!” Jason yelled and made the time out symbol with his hands.

“Fuck your time out!” Dick yelled back - thereby proving the flaw in the time-out plan - if he had already reached full-on crazy rage, he couldn’t get it together enough to actually do anything except yell or punch things. Usually Jason.

“We just went over this, Dick! When I tell you to time out you have to go to your room for ten minutes!”

“Fuck you, you sad sack of shit!” Dick’s face was purple with fury and he was close to explosive violence. All this over the fact Jason had eaten the last yogurt from the fridge just when Dick apparently had an insatiable need for it. It wasn’t like there wasn’t food in the house, Dick had made himself a sandwich, and was waving it angrily at Jason as he ranted, but it apparently did not make up for the loss of the yogurt. 

Dick’s temper had been bad even before the explosion, and now it was in a class all of its own. But second only to Dick in the temper department had been Jason, and that hadn’t actually changed just because of a little trauma. Some days he felt like he was going to lose it and shoot _everyone_ , other times he just couldn’t bite back his words anymore. 

At first he had clung to his temper like a drowning man clung to a life raft, but as time went on it was becoming harder. He tried, he really did because fighting with Dick didn’t help either of them - but sometimes he just lost it. Because he was teetering on the edge of despair himself, because he was swimming in guilt and because Dick was fucking _rude_! But most of all, because not fighting back just wasn’t in his nature. 

“You going to punch me now, Dick? You going to lash out and then spend the evening wallowing in guilt and crying like a fucking pussy?” It was possible when Jason let rip in return he was ‘asking for it’ just like Bruce liked to imply. But fuck Bruce, and fuck Dick, and his brain-damage too.

Dick’s muscles tensed and his eyes narrowed, like a cat about to pounce. Jason shifted his weight slightly to attempt to compensate for the imbalance from his leg. He was fully intending to punch his brother straight in the face if he came at him – Jason had put up with more than enough crap for one day. More than enough for a fucking _lifetime_. 

“Fucknugget!” PB squawked as he hopped between them, his mangy plumage puffed out in distress. The poor parrot got upset when they fought, and Jason felt like a shit looking at its miserable face, then felt angry with himself for pitying it. 

But as usual the parrot worked its mysterious magic and snapped Dick out of his anger. Dick picked the bird up and soothed it. PB still looked ruffled but seemed to be enjoying the petting he was getting, and the fact the sandwich Dick was holding was now within reach. 

“Calmer now Dickface?” Jason asked snidely. To be honest, he had been hoping for a fight, one in which he could actually throw a punch or two. He was itchy under his skin, the past few days he had been feeling an extra tension, like his intuition was trying to tell him something but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He was used to relying on that feeling, it had kept him alive on the streets. He just needed to relieve a little of that pressure and fighting was always a sure-fire way of doing that. 

“Are you trying to piss me off, Jay? Because it’s working!”

“It’s hardly difficult to piss you off these days, you freak!”

“Fuck you!” Dick exploded, he flung his sandwich at Jason, and when it fell short, he launched PB as well. There was a moment as they both watched the parrot attempt and fail to fly - his stubby feathers letting him down. 

Jason lunged to the side and caught the franticly flapping bird, almost falling over in the process. Dick gave him a distraught look, clutching at his own hair in his distress. 

Jason snapped out of his own angry misery as he watched Dick’s face flash through emotions; hurting PB upset him almost as much as hurting Jason did. Dick shot him a wild, pained look and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls. PB whistled, upset.

Jason stroked the bird’s head to calm it. Despite the situation, Jason couldn’t help but muse that Dick must have been one hell of a dramatic teenager; he almost pitied Bruce for having to suffer through it. And then to end up with Jason, who had bounced from surly and wrathful to eager and pathetically puppy-like every other day. 

He could feel PB’s heart beating rapidly against his palm as he cradled the bird, but other than that the parrot seemed un-harmed. 

“He didn’t mean it,” Jason told it. 

“Motherfucker.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed absently. Where had Dick gone? He stormed out fairly often, but it made Jason twitch with anxiety the whole time he was out of sight. 

“ _Clunk fizz_?” PB inquired. 

“Good idea,” Jason told it, and headed for the fridge for a beer. He ignored the little voice in his mind that was mocking him for conversing with a parrot. 

 

Then came the waiting. Jason couldn’t go to bed until Dick returned or made contact,and he managed to eat a pizza and watched a movie before giving up and giving Dick a call. Naturally his phone started ringing from the bathroom. Jason discovered that Dick had apparently left without his shoes on, but had apparently taken his wallet, which was a relief. 

It was four long hours later that the buzzer went off. Dick’s keys were on the kitchen counter so Jason was very much hoping he had managed to find his way home in one piece. He answered the intercom.

“Jason?" A woman’s voice said. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s Erica, we met in a bar the other night.” 

“I remember. How’d you get this address?” Even as he said it, Jason knew the answer.

“Jaaay?” Dick’s voice slurred through the intercom. He sounded wreaked.

Jason rolled his eyes and buzzed them in. He studiously ignored the knot of tension that had unwound from his gut on hearing Dick’s voice.

“Wow, nice place you have!" Erica said, as she came in. Dick remained slumped against the doorframe, apparently too drunk to move further into the apartment.

“Yeah,” Jason said. "Captain brain-damage’s daddy pays for it.” 

“Sweet deal!” She turned and looked at Dick; he was grubby, still barefoot and he seemed to have fallen asleep leaning against the wall. "Mostly sweet, I guess," she amended.

“Want a beer while you tell me the fascinating tale of this evening’s festivities?”

Erica nodded. “You owe me one for my excellent job as escort and damage control officer this evening.” 

“You’re a saint.” Jason handed her a beer and slumped onto the couch.

“You just going to leave him there?” 

“Yep.”

“Fair enough.”

 

Talking to Erica was a relief. Jason was wound up tight, and her light-hearted manner helped him relax. She was a good storyteller and a good sport – when Dick had turned up at the bar she had kept him company and made sure he got home ok. Jason would have to think of some way to thank her properly.

He was enjoying their discussion so much that he had forgotten about Dick, still propped up against the wall. He was reminded of his brother’s presence when there was a loud thump followed by angry parrot noises.

“Oh God, is he ok?” Erica lent over the back of the couch so she could see the door.

Jason groaned and hauled himself up to check the damage. Dick was face down on the floor and PB was sitting on his back, pulling worriedly at his hair. Jason shoed the bird away and heaved Dick into something resembling a sitting position.

“Oww,” Dick muttered.

“You moron. Time for bed I think.”

Dick nodded uncoordinatedly and Jason pulled him to his feet – it was hard going and Dick wasn’t doing much to help. 

“Ya know what, Jay?” Dick said, and tried to pull Jason’s face closer by yanking on his ear. Jason leaned back out of reach, he was not going to be putting up with soppy confessions of love or messy attempts at kissing – especially when Dick smelt like he had been rolling around on a bar-room floor. Which it was possible he had been. 

“Ya know what, Jay?” Dick tried again.

Jason never did find out the next part of that sentence, because Dick followed it up by violently vomiting all over Jason’s shirt. Jason didn’t quite react fast enough and another wave of puke got him straight on. Some splashed on his face. On His _Face_.

He made an inarticulate noise of rage and horror and shoved Dick away. Dick landed on all fours still heaving and sniveling, but Jason was to preoccupied with keeping his own gagging under control to give a crap.

“Oh that is gross,” Erica said from the couch.

“Yeah, you think?” Jason growled. He had to get in the shower right now, and he had to burn his clothes. Jason could deal with pain, he could deal with death, he could deal with blood and guts and brain matter – but he couldn’t handle vomit at all. He was going to puke right there in front of Erica if he didn’t do something ASAP. 

“Dick, get up!” he ordered.

Dick squinted up at him through his messy hair. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Bathroom now!” 

Amazingly Dick staggered to his feet and wobbled his way to the guest bathroom. Jason turned to Erica who was still looking at them with an expression warring between sympathy and disgust. “You can go if you want,” Jason offered, “or if you want to stay, help yourself to food and drink and go hangout in my room – it’s the one without crap all over the floor.” 

Dick was waiting for him in the bathroom. He was attempting to undress, still lacking coordination. Jason helped by yanking his t-shirt over his head and making Dick squawk in distress as it caught on his ears. Then Jason pulled his own puke splattered shirt off and went to work on his pants. Even his embarrassment about his scars came second to getting the vomit stink off himself.

He noticed Dick had stopped undressing and was watching him appreciatively. “This is not a fucking floor show!” Jason snarled at him, but Dick just grinned

“It’s like the start to a porn film!”

“I’m covered in sick! What kind of porn do you watch?”

“Well, perhaps not that part, but I did watch one where these two girls were covered in cream after a factory spillage.”

“Get in the fucking shower!” 

Dick actually obeyed him and shucked his underwear before clambering into the large tub. Out of spite, Jason turned on the cold water and blasted him with the high strength power shower. And while listening to his shrieks and cursing was rather soothing, Jason was still mad. He decided to leave his own shorts on - he might actually kill Dick if the sex-crazed freak tried it on with him in this situation. 

What Jason had not considered was that the guest bathroom did not have a shower chair or any safety handles. Of course, this only occurred to him after he had stepped into the tub. He realized that the chance of him being able to either get back out, or stand in the slippery spray for any length of time without falling over and breaking his face was slim to none. And with his luck he'd break his remaining leg too.

He was just trying to orientate himself when Dick slid a chilly arm around him. 

“Hold on to me, you stubborn bastard,” he muttered, sounding a little less drunk and giddy. 

It wasn’t like Jason had much choice in the matter. It was either cling to Dick like a fool or fall on his face like one. Most awkward shower ever. But somehow they both managed to scrub themselves clean, and Jason felt himself relax under the spray – despite the fact that Dick was naked and pressed all over his body – something that might become distracting if it carried on too long.

Dick helped him out of the tub, which was embarrassing, but thankfully he was quiet as they dried off. Jason’s relaxed state evaporated when he realized there next problem: no clean clothes. For someone who prided himself on his chess game and forward planning, he was sucking at it this evening. Dick had no such worries and after wrapping a towel around his waist he strode out into the living room, leaving Jason to worry about flashing his prosthetic and scars to their guest. Assuming she was still out there and hadn’t taken the opportunity to run for it. 

Then came words that he had learned to fear: 

“Don’t do that PB!” Dick said, from the other side of the door. And Jason winced. Any time the words 'Don’t do that’ and ‘PB’ were used in conjunction, it always resulted in disaster. Jason grabbed a towel and ventured out of the bathroom. 

PB was sitting in one of the puddles of vomit; and not just sitting in it, but _eating_ it. And that was it for Jason. He did one better than Dick though, at least he made it to the toilet before he hurled. 

 

Later, he was laying face down on his bed trying to will death upon himself, while Dick was snoring quietly beside him, and Erica sprawled in a chair. 

“You boys lives always this exciting?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jason muttered. “I don’t know why I do this to myself. I must be a masochist.”

“I know why,” Erica said.

“Oh, you do, do you? Care to enlighten me?” Jason gave up pretending to be dead and rolled over to glare at her as she sipped at her beer.

“I think I was on the money the other night about you having feelings for your hot roommate. The only reason to put up with this level of crazy is love. Just ask my wife, before my meds got adjusted to fit me better, I was a train-wreck, but she stuck with it, and hopefully I’m making it up to her.”

"Feelings for him?” Jason asked. His mind was spinning with exhaustion, stress and beer. “I have so many feeling for him, about him, they’re all tangled and burning white-hot inside me. I can’t tell what’s friendship, what’s bitterness, what’s guilt and what’s everything else.”

“It’s eating you up.”

“People keep telling me that, but no one has offered me any kind of solution!”

“I don’t think anyone can offer you one. You have to do that yourself.”

Jason made an inarticulate noise of frustration. He didn’t know how! He didn’t even know his own mind. Did he have feelings for Dick that weren’t just a manifestation of guilt? Did it really matter if he did? What about Dick’s feelings for him? Were they real or just some sort of brain-fart caused by a traumatic head injury?

Erica sighed, and gave him a sympathetic look. “I know you're struggling. You should talk to him. Hell, talk to me, talk to a shrink, whatever you need to do to sort your head out. Help him, but don’t get swallowed up by his problems. And don’t use his problems to help you ignore your own.”

“You suck,” Jason told her. He didn’t want to hear sense, he wanted to hear a nice easy answer. “I don’t know what I feel about him, ok?”

“I think you do, but you don’t want to act on it. Is it the foster brother thing that’s holding you back? Because that is a little creepy.”

“No, it’s the brain damage thing.” And the whopping heap of guilt thing.

“So the pseudo incest doesn’t bother you at all?”

“No. We didn’t live together or grow up together, we just share the same foster parent - sort of foster parent.”

“The rich guy?”

“Yeah, I kind of got disinherited. It’s complicated.” What was his family status these days anyway? The details were a bit muddy - what with him being legally dead and all. 

“I see that. When we first met and you told me you guys had more than enough drama to go around, you weren’t kidding were you?”

“Nope.”

Erica laughed and pulled herself to her feet. “Well, it’s been an interesting evening, but I better be on my way. But stay in touch you hear? If you ever need to unburden or just go get a beer – call me, no questions asked.”

“Thanks Erica, I appreciate it.” Jason wasn’t sure if he would call her, but it was surprisingly nice to know he could if he wanted to. 

“See you, Jason. Say bye to Dick from me.” 

“I don’t suppose you feel like cleaning up the mess all over the hall and the parrot on the way out?” Jason asked hopefully

“Dream on, handsome.”

Damn. He was going to have to make Dick do it when he woke up. 

 

Jason spent the next few days trying to sort his feelings out. He wasn’t always on good terms with his emotions, but he did try to be true to them if he could. It was this new self-doubt that was making feel disconnected from himself, making him second guess every feeling he had. He needed to address that, so he decided to join Dick for the next chapter of his self help book: Beating Stress.

There were a number of suggestions – yoga, spending time with your pet, a simple hobby like cooking, exercise, dancing. Jason opted to work out. He needed to re-learn most of the fighting moves that had been as natural as breathing before the explosion but now his balance was different and his leg couldn’t always be trusted to take his weight. It would be different when his new prosthetic was made – he was just finishing up the final design and he had already found someone to make it to his specifications. Although it didn’t have any mini machine guns, it was very seriously customized. 

Dick was happy with Jason’s choice too, he liked to watch as Jason carefully tested his strength. Dick was even helpful sometimes, he was extremely knowledgeable about a lot of different fighting styles and was able to give advice about the adjustments that might need to be made. Although it might have been useful to work together in a more practical capacity, they decided not to spar together in case things escalated into real violence. Instead, Dick blasted obnoxious music and went through a fast paced work-out that was half dance and half martial arts. PB loved it too, he would hop up and down and bob his head in time to the music, occasionally cussing when he got over excited. Jason had already uploaded three videos of him to Youtube and received requests for more. 

And while Jason might moan about Dick watching him with that slightly hungry look on his face, he was very aware that he was being hypocritical. Dick Grayson doing yoga was a thing of great beauty and Jason couldn’t take his eyes off him. Dick knew it too, he bent himself into graceful curves that showed off his ass and body and sent Jason unsubtle winks and sultry smiles. Not even the glaring parrot perched on his back or belly stopped Jason having slightly dirty thoughts about him. It was getting harder to ignore and Jason suspected that things were going to come to a head very soon, one way or another.

He wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to that, or dreading it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Warning for this chapter: Vague discussion of [canon] non-con.

Jason had been right about things coming to a head – and not just in the ‘ _Dick has a crush on me, what the fuck_ ,’ sense. In fact if this week had a theme, it would have been: ‘Oh my god I’m not ready for this shit.’

For example, Jason had not meant to spend Wednesday evening making out with Dick on the couch like they were a coupe of horny teenagers, he really hadn’t. 

It was all Tim’s fault; in fact, _everything_ was Tim’s fault. He had been the one to mention Dick’s crush in the first place, and set the ball rolling in Jason’s brain, unearthing all those deeply buried embarrassing teenage crush feelings. And then Tim had set off the spectacular temper tantrum followed by a huge crying jag, which had resulted in hugging on the couch – which in turn had somehow led to the kissing. Definitely Tim’s fault.

 

It had begun earlier Wednesday morning, when the ex-boy-wonder-the-third had come by unannounced. For once he had really looked his age; it was disconcerting, even though it gave Jason a rare chance to feel superior. Tim’s expression and body language were a weird combination of being shit scared and uncomfortable while trying to pretend to be the most confident motherfucker in the room. Usually Tim pulled that shit off like a pro, but today his anxiety was showing. Dick was happy to see him as usual, and didn’t seem to have picked up on the fact that his darling little brother looked shifty as fuck. 

Every alarm bell in Jason’s mind was ringing at full volume.

He considered heading to the fridge to get a beer, but then restrained himself. Unlike Dick, he was self aware enough to know when he was using a crutch, and his concern about Dick’s drinking had made him look at his own. He was no drunk, but beer had become his go-to nerve calmer. It was a slippery slope and he was determined not to slide down it, especially first thing in the morning. Instead he squared his shoulders and gestured for Tim to sit.

“What brings you here, Tim-bob?” he asked. He hoped his trepidation wasn’t showing on his face. 

“I wanted to come by and check in on you guys, see how things were going.” 

“Uh huh,” Jason said. “And…?”

Tim shot him an irritated look. Clearly he didn’t want to be rushed, but Jason couldn’t handle tension these days. He liked his drama to be aired in one go – sort of like ripping off a band-aid. 

“I wanted to talk to Dick about something. It’s kind of personal, and perhaps a bit upsetting.”

“Oh, my _favorite_ kind of discussion,” Jason said. Even without knowing any details he was already trying to think of damage control options. 

“Its ok, Tim. I’m happy for Jason to sit in, what ever it is,” Dick said. He had that calm, big brother smile on his face, but that would mean fuck all if Tim said something he didn’t like. 

So yeah, like hell Jason was going to leave. He would never be able to explain away Tim’s death if things went south. And Dick inexplicably liked the little shit and would be sad if he maimed him in a fit of rage.

“Ok, it’s nothing permanent, and I want to run it past you first, obviously. Things have been difficult with the two of you out of the picture for the time being,” Tim began diplomatically. “And Bruce wants us to use all our resources to present a united front. Both in Gotham and in the 'Haven. I’ve worked there before, so I offered to go a few times a week, you know?”

“Sure, Tim, that seems like a good idea.” Dick smiled encouragingly.

Jason’s stomach dropped. He had a sudden flash of insight into what Tim was going to suggest, and the reaction he was going to get from Dick. No Time-Out in the world was going to help prevent an explosion.

“Bruce thought rather than Red-Robin, it should be Nightwing that looks after the ‘Haven – seeing as he’s known there, and there have been rumors about his disappearance.”

“He wants me to come back?” Dick asked, and his eyes had lit up with hope and all Jason could see was the train-wreck about to happen. 

And by the expression on Tim’s face – so did he. But ever faithful to the Bat, Tim pushed on regardless. “Actually Bruce suggested I take over as Nightwing, just for a while,” he blurted.

“What?” Dick looked confused, like it wasn’t computing. 

“It would just be for a week or two,” Tim tried. But he was lying and they all knew it. If he took over as Nightwing – he would stay as him.

“What?” Dick asked again, but this time there was tension in the question.

“Bruce said it would be good for our cover. Nightwing disappearing has been causing rumors to fly and-” Tim began. 

Jason knew it would be good for their cover; in fact it was a good idea on multiple levels. But Dick wasn’t in a place where logic or reason actually worked on him and all he saw and heard was betrayal, and he went for Tim like a striking snake.

Jason was waiting for it. His own adrenalin had spiked as soon as he had figured out what Tim was asking and he lunged to catch Dick as he flew across the table. He was getting pretty damn good at tackling Dick in mid-attack but the momentum still carried them both to the floor - Jason taking most of the impact, of course. 

Dick was yelling and thrashing and it was all Jason could do to hold onto him. Tim had a shocked, horrified expression on his usually calm face and Jason felt almost smug for one uncharitable moment. Then Dick elbowed him in the face and he went back to feeling pissed off. 

“Just leave, brat!” Jason yelled as they rolled under the kitchen table. Tim looked torn - and guilty. Dick was cussing in multiple languages, he seemed to have forgotten that he was angry with Tim specifically, and had just dissolved into a full-on meltdown. Not to be left out, PB was also screeching and cussing at the top of his tiny lungs from the safety of the couch, flapping his stubby wings like a creature possessed. It was a scene of mayhem, and it would have been funny if it were on TV and not actually happening. 

Eventually Dick stopped struggling and yelling and just clung to Jason and wept the hysterical tears of someone driven past the point of emotional stability. He wept like he was grieving, and Jason could well understand that. It was hard to see Dick in such an emotional state, but Jason was getting used to it and he made himself stay, made himself watch, and hold Dick close. It was his fault, and he could never let himself forgot that. 

Tim was still standing rooted to the spot. He looked crushed, like all his boyhood dreams had gone up in flames, and he was the one to light the match.

“Go, wonder boy,” Jason said, not unkindly. “I’ll talk him round.”

“But-”

“ _Go_. I’ll call you for chess.”

As soon as Tim turned towards the door, there was a flurry of feathers and PB launched himself vengefully from the couch to snap at Tim’s retreating heals like a pissed off collie. Tim practically tripped over himself trying to get out of the apartment. PB seemed to think he had saved the day and puffed himself up proudly, whistling the intro to ‘America’s Most Wanted’. 

Some days Jason sort of loved the stupid parrot. 

 

Later, they were on the couch, PB seated comfortably on Jason’s stomach and Dick with his face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Why is this happening?” Dick asked, in a voice still thick with tears.

“Things change Dickie – it’s not the worst thing that could happen – in fact it’s not even of the scale of worse things. It’s not so bad at all really.”

“It feels bad. Why does he want to take away my name?”

“He doesn’t, its just time for a change, time to move on. And can you think of anyone better to take over the name?” He couldn’t believe he was saying this, he really couldn’t. “Tim is -” Jason stalled for a moment, Tim is what? Evil? Smart enough to rule the fucking world? Your biggest fan-boy? Your brother? “Tim is more than capable; he’s the best you could ever hope for. Unless Cassandra wanted a name change, she would make one hell of a Nightwing, don’t you think?”

“But _I’m_ Nightwing!”

“You _were_ Nightwing, you were amazing and you will move on to something new – something good. But you and me? For the foreseeable future, we’re benched.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“Nor do I, but I also don’t want to be dead. Which is what I would be if I hit the streets without being fully recovered and 100% sure I could trust my balance and the weight on my leg.” 

“Nightwing is who I _am_.”

“You were Robin too, and you gave that up, moved on, found yourself again.” 

“It hurt me so much! He let you use the name my mother gave me. Me! Not you, not anybody! Robin is _my_ name!” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Jason said, as soothingly as he was able. His mothers name for him? Jason was going to hit Bruce in the head next time he saw him. Even though he understood why carrying on the legacy might have been the right thing to do, there could have been a gentler, more sympathetic way to go about it. Not that he would have cared at the time. 

Dick looked stricken and Jason tugged him a bit closer. “Dickie, you think it doesn’t eat me up inside too? It does. But I know I can’t be what I was, I’ll be killed. I haven’t given up though – I’m going to find something to give me meaning again. I’m going to take control of my future; I’m going to make shit work out for us, for _both_ of us.”

Dick pushed back from him, and then climbed him like a tree, straddling his lap and hugging him so hard Jason was momentarily worried his nose had been broken against Dick’s shoulder. 

“Jay, why didn’t I see this in you before? I was so blind the person you really are under all the bullshit and the violence.”

“Hey!”

“You’re an incredible person, Jaybird. I’m honored to know you.”

Jason flinched, and then flushed. Crushing shame vs. teenage crush. What was his life? At least Dick had stopped crying and breaking things. “You’re pretty awesome yourself, Dickie. Even if you are a head-case.”

Rather than being offended at Jason’s casual insult Dick grinned before planting a kiss on his lips. When Jason didn’t object he retuned for another, longer press of lips. Jason’s sensible brain was telling him to gently turn Dick down, as he usually did, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t even blame this sudden madness on his occasionally unruly penis, as it was as limp and uninterested as it had been since the explosion. But despite that, when Dick pressed the next kiss to his lips, Jason opened his mouth slightly and Dick took that for the invitation it was, immediately deepening the kiss with a happy moan. 

And that was how it started. All Tim’s fault. Except for where it wasn’t. 

 

Once started, it was hard to stop – and in truth, Jason found he really didn’t want to stop. Movie night had turned into ‘making out like it was going out of fashion’ night. It was a pleasant distraction, and to Jason’s surprise, Dick hadn’t pushed too hard for more. He seemed content to snuggle and kiss and then go jerk off loudly in his room. In anybody else Jason would have assumed that to be passive aggressive – but he figured Dick was just being Dick.

And Jason was starting to experience familiar heat in his belly as they kissed, the first sign of hope that maybe his cock would just fix it’s self if he relaxed and went with the flow. That’s what he told himself, as he slid his fingers under Dick’s warn green t-shirt and ran his hands over scars and taut muscle. He kept telling himself that as Dick tugged off his shirt in turn, and left a trail of open mouthed kisses that felt like fire across Jason’s shoulders. 

Kissing Dick like this felt good. He hadn’t expected it to, he had thought he would be guilty or embarrassed, but he felt warm and hopeful instead. Perhaps it was just that he was so used to Dick being in his space, so used to thinking about them as a unit that the transition to intimacy was easier than expected. Jason had to admit he was not the same person that he was before the explosion, and Dick certainly wasn’t. 

Either way it couldn’t last. Jason had been kidding himself in the most determined way possible. He had been living in a hazy, comfortable dream, it was like drugs, sucking you under and making your mind muzzy. 

In fact, everything felt a little fuzzy if he was being honest. The week following Dick’s outburst had felt like a dream. There had been kissing, and pizza and Dick had been fairly calm, only flipping out at things that frustrated him – like when he set fire to the coffee machine or forgot to turn the bathroom taps off and flooded his room.

Jason sort of forgot that the world existed outside their apartment. It was only when Tim finally checked in that reality intruded. 

Tim looked rough, he had obviously been awake and angsting for a few days, and Jason felt guilty for not calling him earlier. 

“Dick’s not mad at you any more,” Jason offered.

“Liar. I felt like I just broke his heart.”

“You did,” Jason agreed, ignoring Tim’s irritated grimace. “But broken hearts mend. I think it’s a good thing in the long run. A clean break from the life he had before. He can’t go back, and now he knows it.”

“I wish it hadn’t have been me though.”

“Better you than someone else. He loves you, he trusts you. That hasn’t changed, he isn’t even mad at you anymore – although I would avoid mentioning it if I’m not in the room to rescue you if he’s having a bad day.”

“You’re pretty clever when you’re not mouthing off.”

“It’s true; I’m the smartest guy I know.”

Tim laughed, and it was a surprisingly nice sound. “You’re a good person Jason, much nicer than I had been led to believe.”

Jason thought about how it had felt when he had pushed Dick down on the couch – pinning him with his weight and sucking lightly at his neck, just below his ear. The noises Dick had made, the feel of his arousal pressing against Jason’s belly and how much he had wanted to flip him over and just fuck him, rough and hard from behind. 

“Nope, definitely not a good person.” It was probably a good thing his penis was broken, because otherwise the situation could be so, so much worse. 

Tim’s expression changed, became intense and focused. “What was that look on your face about?” he asked, and Jason suddenly felt like a rat in a trap.

“What look? I can’t see my own face you know!” It was the truth, even on Skype Jason avoided the image of himself.

“What have you done, Jason?” 

How did he _know_? The little shit always knew – he seemed to be able to read Jason like he was an open book, which was completely unacceptable. 

“Nothing!”

“Are you _sleeping_ with him?” Tim asked, sounding slightly aghast. 

Jason couldn’t help wonder what the hell his face had looked like when he was thinking about fucking Dick. Hungry, probably. Lustful, _wrong_.

“No,” Jason said, and even to him it sounded like a lie. What the hell had he become, that he was forced to explain himself to a scrawny sixteen year old? 

“Jesus Christ, Jason. We just had a discussion about this! About how unhealthy it would be for you both – remember that?”

“It’s not unhealthy, we’re consenting adults. I’ve felt good this past week. Dick’s been happy. Were both fine.” And oh god, he _was_ explaining himself to his teenage brother. The shame of it burnt his cheeks. 

“You’ve felt good? You haven’t left the flat all week!”

“You’re not supposed to be monitoring us!”

“You said there could be security cameras outside, just not inside. Do you think for on moment that Bruce didn’t rig cameras over every inch of this building that he could?”

“Good point. But not going out isn’t a crime.”

“No, but this is just another way for you to escape from what happened, for both of you, but _especially_ you, Jason. Even Dick is coping better, he’s expressing himself, and moving forward. You’re stuck, something’s holding you back from making any progress.”

“Fuck you!” Jason severed the Skype connection and then sat there feeling like a petulant child. Tim was right, as per fucking usual. He had stopped using beer as a crutch and started using kissing. He wasn’t sure if that was a step forward, or backward. Either way he vowed to stop.

 

He didn’t stop. 

He liked the kissing. He liked the status quo, but he knew it couldn’t last. Dick was being surprisingly thoughtful and undemanding, but eventually something had to give. Depressingly it looked like Tim had been on the money when he had suggested that Jason’s guilt might make him overstep his own boundaries. Because Dick looked so hot and so needy and even though it would inevitably lead to shame and catastrophe, Jason felt bad depriving him of what he wanted. It was a disaster awaiting opportunity and although he was angry at his body, angry at his cowardice, angry at Dick for putting him in this position, the shivery warm thing in his belly when Dick touched him - and kissed him or even looked at him in that hungry way - that made him feel there was hope. 

That was a stupid feeling. He needed to remember that in future, and not let hope run away with him. But because he was a moron and never took his own advice he let things go too far. 

 

Dick pulled at the waistband of Jason’s boxers, revealing some of the twisted burn scars on his hip.

“Don’t,” Jason told him, pushing at his head as Dick bent to kiss them.

“Why? The scars?” Dicks voice was husky with desire and Jason felt an answering tug in his gut even as he struggled with his answer. He didn’t really know how to articulate the discomfort he felt at people looking at the burn damage, especially Dick. 

“They're ugly,” he said at last, which was true, but didn’t encapsulate all that he meant.

“They’re just marks on your skin, Jason - and they’re just as beautiful as the rest of you.”

“Nobody has ever called me beautiful, Dick-face, and for good reason.” Jason didn’t know whether to blush or lash out. He certainly wasn’t a looker like Dick was, even before. The whole idea was ludicrous. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” Dick said, with embarrassing levels of intensity.

“Yeah, but you have brain damage,” Jason couldn’t help pointing out.

“Please, Jason.” 

Dick was being so gentle, and so sweet and there was something almost reverent about they way he was touching him. Tim’s words about it being ‘unhealthy’ were running though his mind, but still for some dumb-ass reason, he let Dick tug his shorts off the rest of the way. Let him examine the scars and gently kiss his skin. Jason averted his eyes. His cock was just lying there, exposed and limp and the shame that burned him stole his breath. 

This should be a fantasy come true. Golden boy Dick Grayson with his head between Jason’s spread thighs? At one time he would have creamed his pants at the thought of it. Now here he was seconds away from a panic attack. His feelings of discomfort increased and sweat broke out all over his body, bringing with it a weird prickly sensation on his skin. Even when Dick took him into his mouth and begun to suck him in earnest, it felt weird rather than arousing. It felt wrong. 

“Why won’t it work?” Dick asked, confused. 

Jason wasn’t sure if 'it' was Dick’s cock sucking skills or Jason’s penis, but either way Dick sounded upset. Upset with a hint of angry. Jason relished they idea of physical violence - that he could understand, it came as easy as breathing. As did verbal violence. 

“Not my fault you’ve lost your looks,” he said, and he fully expected Dick to punch him. Instead the bastard just looked wounded. 

“I thought you liked me for more than that,” Dick said forlornly

“Like you? You ruined my fucking life!” Sort of true and yet also the opposite of true: Jason had ruined both their lives – Dick was innocent. 

“Fuck you, Jason! If I could take it back I would! If we could rewind time I would rather die than have this happen to you! I wish you’d have just left me there!”

Jason couldn’t cope with hearing that, he couldn’t handle the level of pain in Dick’s voice – even though he had been aiming for a reaction, that wasn’t it. Seemed he still couldn’t predict Dick’s responses to things, and hurting him had not been what he had been going for. He pushed Dick off the couch and struggled to pull his shorts back up. He was embarrassed to find himself so angry and upset that there were tears pricking the back of his eyes. He didn’t exactly run to his room, but he didn’t exactly walk either. 

He wished they had both fucking died. He wished none of it had happened and they were still Nightwing and the Red Hood – not just Dick and Jason and all the emotional crap that came with them.

 

It didn’t take Dick long to follow him. Jason had been expecting it and was trying his hardest to get himself under control. The bed dipped as Dick sat beside him, but Jason ignored him as best he could.

“I’m sorry, Jay. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I just can’t always tell when I’m doing the wrong thing. It feels right, so I just assume it is.”

“Not your fault, Dick,” Jason muttered. He really wouldn’t object to sudden death right now.

“But it’s not yours either. I am sorry though, I just wanted you to feel good, and I thought you were enjoying it.”

“Not your _fault_ , Dick,” Jason repeated. Once again praying for death before he was forced to humiliate himself further. No such luck. “Since the explosion, things haven’t been right with me. Nothing short of a miracle would have made it ‘work’.”

Dick leaned closer “You’re impotent?” he actually sounded _relived_ at the prospect and it made Jason see red, he rolled over and swung a fist at Dick awkwardly, but Dick easily avoided the blow, he pinned Jason’s arm and leant into him.

“It’s ok, Jay. That can happen after you suffer something bad. It will sort itself out, when your mind and body are feeling better.”

“The fuck would you know about it?” Jason snarled, trying to tug his arm free so he could land an actual punch. But Dick currently had the advantage. “You telling me you’ve had trouble getting it up? Golden balls slutface Grayson?”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Slutface? Is that really the best you’ve got?” The fucker was _smiling_. 

And yeah, it had not been the best insult – probably one better suited to a twelve year old than an angry grown-ass man. But still, it was the thought that counted, not the words. 

“No, more where that came from, ass-weasel,” Jason sneered, but he had to admit he was feeling a little better.

Dick grinned at him, “Twat-waffle!”

“Fuck Nugget.” Jason offered, as he felt PB should be represented in this argument.

“Cooter flooter!”

“Dick, that’s not even a thing. And what is with all the vagina euphemisms?”

Dick shrugged and rolled closer, until he was pressed up against Jason’s side. “I just like vaginas, I guess.”

Jason tried to bite back a grin. “Well, you could have used some nicer terms.”

“Probably.”

Jason had to admit, Dick’s usual word-vomit had made him relax some, and it was a relief to be able to pretend the last hour hadn’t happened. But of course Dick wasn’t done.

“But seriously, about the impotent stuff – I have honestly had the same thing after some kind of trauma. I lost all interest in sex after that one time I got shot.”

Jason groaned. Not even ten minutes respite from this never ending cycle of mortification. “That’s not the same thing at all,” Jason couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. 

Dick huffed. “Well I couldn’t get it up for ages at all after I was raped.” 

There was a long pause and Dick’s whole body went still as he registered his own words. 

Jason couldn’t breathe - he couldn’t find his voice.

Dick pulled back slightly. “It wasn’t that, I mean, I wouldn’t call it that, not really. I don’t know why I used that word.” His eyes were wide and pleading, begging Jason to let it go. 

“ _Who_?” Was all Jason managed to grit out from between his clenched teeth, he was going to kill them, and if they were already dead, he was going to dig them up and piss on them. 

Dick grimaced and shrugged. “It’s over with, Jason, it s done. I want to keep it that way, and I don’t want to talk about it, ok?”

Jason nodded and Dick flopped down on him, half covering him with his body, but Jason’s mind was still working, his breaths still coming hard. He was almost stunned with anger and some unidentifiable twisting, burning feeling in his chest. How had he not known this? Did Bruce know? Did Tim? Dick’s friends? 

Dick brushed his fingers against Jason’s tense jaw. “Jay, just let it go. She’s in prison, it’s in the past. I want to keep it there.”

“It was a woman?” Jason asked, surprised.

Dick nodded, and Jason pulled him in close. Dick sighed against him and returned his embrace. The fact this woman was in a female prison made getting in and murdering her more complicated, but not impossible. 

“I can feel you plotting, Jay. She’s my demon to deal with, not yours, and I have dealt with her in a way that satisfies me. Don’t take that away.” Dick curled himself closer and Jason could feel his lashes fluttering against his bare shoulder. “Jay, I mean it. If you retaliate, you will be taking my decision away from me. I want her punished by law, not violence. Promise me, Jason.”

“I promise.” The words sounded wooden to his own ears, and they tasted of ash and lies.

But Dick seemed to accept it, once again stroking his fingers over Jason’s jaw. “I’m fine now of course!” Dick grinned against his skin. But Jason wasn’t comforted. He would respect Dick’s decision, but he would lose sleep over it. 

 

“ _Clunk fizz, clunk fizz_!”

Jason woke to PB standing on his chest making the beer opening noise. The fucking bird had a talent for breaking out of his cage. Or possibly Dick had forgotten to lock it again. 

“ _Clunk Fizz_!” PB repeated, and hopped up and down in agitation. 

“I’m awake, feather-brain. What’d you want?” Jason muttered. He had only just managed to get to sleep. His bedside clock said 4.15am. Lovely.

PB whistled a few bars of the Imperial March, bobbing his head and ruffling his feathers angrily. Jason looked at him blearily for a moment then realized his phone must have been ringing in the other room – that was the ringtone for Tim. PB’s vendetta against Jason’s phone was legendary and he hoped the parrot had not done anything permanent to it. Like dropping it in the toilet or putting it in a cup off coffee (the fate of Dick’s last phone – he had blamed PB but it could just as easily been Dick himself not paying attention). Either way, Jason wasn’t getting back to sleep until he sorted it out. 

Four missed calls from Tim, and a terse message asking him to call ASAP. Tim answered on the second ring. “Where have you been?”

“Asleep, asshole. Some of us no longer take the nightshift, remember?”

“Sorry,” Tim didn’t sound sorry, he sounded agitated. 

“What’s up?” Jason had that feeling of creeping dread. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be good and he didn’t think he could actually handle any more of the emotional roller coaster of the past few hours.

“I just thought I would let you know, that Bruce has a lead.”

“Awesome. Lead on what? Why’d you need to wake me up for this?” 

“On the explosion. He’s been obsessed with making sure he gets the whole gang – even while he’s been away on business. He’s had me fact checking, but he wants to question the guy himself when he gets back.” 

Jason was suddenly very awake. “What lead? Why guy?” He asked as casually as possible.

“We heard talk there might have been a witness, some small time pimp and dealer called Eddy Evens? Bruce is having me look into it, and he’s going to be questioning him second he’s back in the cape and tights. I thought you should know.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, and unceremoniously hung up. That was a warning. He had suspected Tim knew, or had guessed Jason had some role in what had happened, but now he was damn sure - and then Bruce would know, and then Dick. Unless he found Evens first. 

He sat down on the arm of the sofa and switched his phone to silent as Tim tried to call back. He had to think, he had to figure something out quickly.

“Goddamn, motherfucker,” PB said ominously. Jason couldn’t agree more.


	13. Chapter 13

Jason hadn’t managed much sleep in the two days since Tim’s phone call. He had to find Evens before Bruce did, but his ability to do so was hampered by the following:

1\. Only having one fucking leg. 

2\. Bruce’s over protectiveness of Dick, resulting in the entire block being covered by security cameras – once upon a time that would have been easy. Now not so much, due to the afore mentioned lack of a leg.

3\. Dick. 

 Dick was the real problem (wasn’t he always) - he was clingy, even following Jason to his various medical appointments. Jason had to wonder if Dick’s previous lovers had been subjected to this sort of constant attention or if it was something that had resulted from his injury.

And yeah, lover was pushing it a bit but this, _whatever_ it was, was the closest Jason had ever come to having a relationship that was more than a quick and dirty fuck in an anonymous hotel room. Even those encounters had been rather thin on the ground – Jason had spent most of his late teens and early adulthood doing more important things – like seeking bloody revenge, taking over crime syndicates and meting out his own brand of murderous justice. Sex had kind of taken a back burner to most of that. 

Either way, having your housemate? Partner? _Boyfriend_? Come into the bathroom while you were having a shower and casually sit on the toilet to take a dump, chatting away about parrot mating habits, was a new one for him. Jason wasn’t sure if that was creepy and weird, disturbing, or weirdly disturbingly pleasing. It was a level of intimacy he had never imagined himself having. Dick seemed to be treating the demolition of their few remaining boundaries as completely normal. He appeared to be happy, and if Jason had not been pissing his pants over the whole Eddy Evens thing - and the associated impending disaster – he probably would have labeled himself as fairly happy too, considering the lack of a leg, lack of a working penis and the mess of guilt that were his feelings about Dick.

But sadly, he really didn’t have that luxury 

 

He had to find Eddy Evens. But he couldn’t do so as Jason Todd or the Red Hood. Both were being watched and would stir up too many questions. Instead he would have to slip away, head to one of his old safe houses and become somebody else for the day. It wasn’t just Daddy Bats and his Robins who knew how to play dress up. 

He decided to use his Physio appointment and sneak away after. But it was hours to wait, and the anticipation was making him twitchy. He and Dick were very used to each other’s rhythms throughout the day, any change was noticeable. Jason tried to maintain his usual casual banter, but he could see Dick eyeing him curiously. Distraction was necessary. 

Jason shook his iPad angrily and tried to force his face into a pout instead of the anxious scowl it was trying to form. “This is bullshit!” he said.

“What is?” Dick asked from where he was sitting at the table, hunched over his phone with PB looking on jealously. That phone was toast if he didn’t keep an eye on it.

“PB has 2,324 followers on YouTube. How is that fair? I only have twelve and a half friends on Facebook.”

Dick snorted. “Whose the half?”

“Some hot Russian chick called Titania. She wants to marry me, but I’m pretty sure she isn’t really a Russian, or a woman, or an actual person, for that matter.”

“What makes you say that?” Dick asked, taking his eyes off the phone still held loosely in his hands. PB shuffled closer, beady parrot gaze fixed on his target.

“My ninja senses tell me she might not be being completely honest about her Internet identity.”

“Neither are you! You have the name ‘Hot Rodd’ and have your bike for a profile picture.”

“I want people to love me for my amazing personality and hot wheels, rather than my dashing good looks.” 

“And that’s why you only have twelve and a half friends,” Dick smirked.

“Rude, Dick. Rude.” Jason shook his head, he had been ideally wondering if he should warn Dick about his phones imminent demise or dig his own out and film what might be PB’s next big YouTube hit. He was about to see if he could fish his cell from where it had fallen down the side of the couch, when PB made his move; with a wild battle cry of “Goddamn fucknugget!’ he lunged for the phone, plucked it from Dick’s hands and flung it off the table. 

“PB!” Dick yelled, but the parrot was already flutter-falling his way down to the floor to grab his prize. Jason grinned and slid himself of the couch. Distraction achieved. He headed to his room to hide until it was time to leave. 

 

After the yelling, swearing and squawking had died down; it was weirdly quiet for the next few hours, so much so that Jason’s concern almost overrode his desire to stay out Dick’s way until he had a handle on the current situation. Eventually he had to venture out anyway.

Dick looked up from his rescued phone with a _terrifyingly_ guilty expression on his face. Anything that put that look there was bad news for Jason. As he got his jacket and begun the annoying task of putting his boots on, he briefly toyed with the idea of putting the Evens thing off until tomorrow and beating whatever fucked up thing Dick was involving himself with out of his stupid not-brother. 

He opted to deal with his own problems first, and head to physio as scheduled. He had a sneaky suspicion he was going to regret that later, though.

Physiotherapy was as frustrating as always; he had been making significant progress with his shitty prosthetic, but with the arrival of his custom made one he was having to re-learn things all over again. The new leg was twenty times better though, discomfort aside. It may not have been sporting mini machine guns, but the amount of hidey-holes and space to stash stuff – much of it custom made to fit in a fake leg, was eerily reminiscent of a Bat style utility belt. 

However awesome it was though, he would have to abandon it for the afternoon he had planned, as he still was not as confident in his movement while using it. After physio he stopped off at an old safe house to deposit the prosthetic, dress himself appropriately and make himself look like someone else. 

The idea was appealing to a level where he suspected his therapist (if he had one) would have quite a lot to say about it. Happily for him, Jason had been trained in the subtle art of disguise, and unlike certain other members of the bat clan, he was actually good at it. Dick loved playing dress up, and although as Robin he had been rather frighteningly convincing in his various guises (realizing the hot chick in that file on the Bat computer had actually been a fifteen year old Dick was one of the most sexually confusing moments of Jason’s young life) but that was when Bruce was the one orchestrating the disguises. Left to his own devises Dick liked to go loud – loud wigs, loud clothes: Subtle was not his strong suit. 

Jason liked understated when it came to disguise, it was less memorable than being decked out in a huge blond wig and a 70s mustache which seemed to be Dick’s go-to option. 

So with subtle in mind, he used the time honored tradition of using make up to change the appearance of his facial features, then added contacts, an obnoxious baseball cap and some stick on sideburns and stubble to become one of his old aliases: Sam Finn. Small Time player and busy-body. He wasn’t even worth noticing to the big guys, but he was affable and generous with the drinks. He had a cover story, for his long time absence and for his limp. Now he just had to slip into Finn’s metaphorical skin and head out. 

It was harder than he had thought. There was a tension that buzzed in the back of his mind as he tried to slide into Finns swagger, hampered by the necessary changes to his movements. It felt weird to be back on the streets, he felt vulnerable. He hated feeling like that and he had to get over it. Finn would be pissed about his leg, he would smile and joke but there would be underling steel. He might even be looking to get even with the fucker who had shot him. He was low in cash, so maybe he could earn some assistance with an exchange of information. Apparently subterfuge was just like riding a bike – after a bumpy start, habit just took over. 

His contact was Maria Luczynski, small time pimp and trouble maker. She and Finn were friendly, and Jason genuinely liked the woman – she looked after her girls, and gave them a fair cut of their hard won wages – more than most pimps and madams would ever do. Her husband ran a shady network of drugs and goods and that offered her and her girls some level of protection from their rivals. Not that they would mess with her anyway, not if they knew what was good for them.

She was drinking in her usual haunt, a rundown dive called the Crystal Ball. The atmosphere was less crystal and more thirty years of nicotine stains and sticky beer splattered floors. Jason liked it. 

Maria’s face didn’t exactly brighten when she saw him weaving through the slightly smelly customers towards her, but she lifted an eyebrow at him and her weathered face eased into a small smile. 

“Finn. Long Time,” she said, her gaze flicking to his leg as he walked over.

“Luczynski, keeping good company, as ever.” He gestured at the thin crowd of grizzled patrons.

“Speak for yourself, gimpy. What’s up with the leg?”

Always to the point. Jason gave her a grin, but kept his eyes hard. “Ran into some trouble a few months back, may have stepped on some toes. Didn’t deserve all the lead in my knee though.”

She nodded at a bar stool, and he eased onto it. 

“Who fucked you up, Finn?” she asked. And Jason felt a flush of warmth. People caring about one of his aliases was almost like people caring about him. 

“That’s what I would like to know, kinda.” He shrugged. “How’s tricks?” He snickered, “’scuse the pun.”

She sneered good-naturedly at him and took a pull on her beer. “Anyone ever tell you your sense of humor is for shit?”

“…yeah?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Ha!” she said. “I’m sure they have! Tricks are good, literally and figuratively. Not so much for you, I take it? Where you been these last few months?”

“Recovering” Jason told her, honestly. “Recovering and plotting. But I don’t got much to trade.” 

“Hoping to cash in on favors past, huh?”

Jason gave her a rueful grin, “Something like that. Although it could also be for future endeavors. I would owe you if you did me a solid now.”

Maria shrugged and gestured for the bar tender to bring them more drinks. “You’ve always done right by me and mine, and we like to look after our own down here. What do you want to know?”

“Eddy Evens,” he said and one of her well plucked brows rose into her hairline. “He’s the only person I’ve fucked over, the only one with the motive and means to get me shot. I’m pretty inoffensive usually!” he put a hand to his chest dramatically.

Maria snorted. “At least until you’ve had a skin-full you mean! There’s no love lost between me and Eddy. He’s a scumbag who keeps his girls drugged up, and not all of them are willing, from what I hear. Beats ‘em too.”

Well, that made Jason feel about ten times better about Eddy’s impending death. He had no problem killing people with that kind of rep. 

“I’ve looked for him, discreetly of course, but he’s fallen off the grid.” 

Maria nodded. “That he has, and I figure your problem will go away on its own, you give it enough time. Rumor has it, Eddy’s a dead man walking.”

“How so?”

“Well, everyone seems to know the Bat is asking after him. Surprised you didn’t know that yourself, what with you being so knowledgeable about that sort of thing.” 

She was fishing, he had used intel on Batman in the past, and she was desperate to know how he came by it. He didn’t rise to the bait. “That’s hardly a death sentence, more like a slapped wrist and jail time, if you’re really naughty.” 

“True, but the scuttlebutt says he’s in deeper than that.”

“Scuttlebutt? You been watching to much NCIS again?” 

“Yeah, well that Gibbs is hot stuff.” She punched his arm and took a drink, clearly enjoying herself. “Anyway, the _scuttlebutt_ suggests that he thinks the Red Hood is after him. And that guy? Doesn’t take prisoners.”

“Fuck!” Jason said, and scowled at his drink. “What the hell could he have done to piss that freak off? Must be something big to have him and the Batman on his ass.”

She shrugged. “That’s the part I don’t know, what ever it is, he’s keeping it close to his chest for now.”

“Fuck, if that’s true, I need to get to him before the ‘Hood does – I have to be sure it was him that ordered the hit! Otherwise I’m going to have to be looking over my shoulder for the next ten years! And I’ve got shit to do, beer to drink and girls to get turned down by.”

Maria patted his hand where it rested on the bar. “I’ll find him for you.” She narrowed her eyes at her drink, considering. “I like you, Finn, always have. But I don’t ever do something for nothing. Got my own rep to protect.”

Jason nodded. “I get that. What do you need? I don’t have much at the moment, but whatever it is? I will do what I can.”

Her smile was razor sharp. “I ever wanted some intel on a certain flying rodent, you’ve always been very helpful.”

“I try.”

She grinned at him and lifted her empty bottle. “Another?”

 

Some hours later, back at his safe house Jason scrubbed his face clean and tried to sober up. She would be as good as her word he was sure. Her obvious dislike of Evens would also work in his favor. He suspected she might even buy him a drink or three for taking him out. 

All in all he felt pleased with himself. That had gone off without a hitch, and he felt a level of confidence he had almost forgotten he had. For the first time since the explosion he almost felt like himself. And for the first time since Tim’s call, he felt like things might go his way for once.

He should have probably known better.

 

It was almost 8pm when he made his way back to the apartment, and Jason had all but forgotten Dick’s weird behavior from earlier. The reason for it became abundantly clear when Jason walked into the living room. 

Dick had company.

It took a second to place the well-dressed young man perched politely on the couch and clutching a mug of coffee: Warren Lewis, the social worker.

“Jason,” Lewis greeted him, giving him that patented social worker smile. “Dick was just telling me how the last few months have been going for the two of you. Lots of adjustments.”

“What are you doing here?” Jason growled, but it was mostly addressed to Dick who had an almost pained expression of earnestness on his scarred face. He was also wearing his t-shirt inside out and back to front.

“I felt it was time to clear up what happened the other week at the vets, and maybe to see what help they can offer.” Dick said, sheepishly.

“We were doing just fine, Dick!”

Dick blinked at him and bit his lip. 

Lewis gave him another placating smile. “It’s just an informal chat, Jason, come and join us.” He gestured to a seat.

Jason had no intention of doing any such thing. “Where’s the bird?” he asked, playing for time while he tried to decide on a course of action that wouldn’t land him in jail. 

Dick frowned at him. “Hiding. I told him off for trying to poo on Mr. Lewis.”

Jason smirked. Some days he really liked that parrot.

Lewis looked pained. “I don’t think it likes me,” he said.

“He’s not the only one,” Jason muttered, loudly.

Lewis plowed on regardless. “Dick has been telling me about your changed relationship status, which I found a little confusing, as you told me he was your brother?” He left the question hanging in the air like a particularly rank fart. 

Jason was not prepared to tell some piece of shit stranger the complicated ins and outs of the his weird-ass family, and he had no desire to talk about his sex life or lack thereof, with a fucking social worker. The silence stretched and became distinctly uncomfortable. Something had to give, and as usual it was Dick.

“Its ok, Jason’s impotent!” he blurted, looking imploringly in Jason’s direction. Lewis seemed to be trying to force his face to move from confusion to sympathy and Jason was just frozen to the spot in outrage and shame. 

As he struggled to find an appropriate response, PB stuck his scaly head out from under the sofa, and spotting Jason, he scuttled across the floor and latched onto his boot, _clunk fizzing_ all the way.

After failing to dislodge him by shaking his foot and not wanting to topple over and complete his humiliation, Jason scooped up the bird and spun on his heals fully intending to storm out with as much dignity as he could master. 

PB whistled at him, “Holy banana boats, Batman!” he said, ruffling his tattered plumage and gazing at Jason proudly. 

That seemed like Jason’s cue to leave, but when he had regained his equilibrium, he and PB were going to return and kill Dick. Slowly.


	14. Chapter 14

It was only when Jason had stormed down to the street that he realized he was still holding PB. And despite telling Dick not to take the bird drinking, he really needed to get drunk. Like, right now.

Of course, this turned out to be more difficult than it had any right to be. The first place he approached, the doorman gave PB an angry look and pointed an accusing finger. Jason didn’t feel like arguing so he moved further down the street to the next. This time he got as far as the bar itself, before the bartender shock his head and raised his hands in an act of apparent fear.

“Nope. You’re barred.” He said, looking around frantically for security.

“How can I be barred?” Jason asked, although he suspected the answer. “’I’ve never even been here!”

“The bird’s barred.”

 “How can you bar a bird?” Jason just had time to wonder when his life had turned into a cheap-ass daytime soap opera, when security arrived, looking menacing. The other patrons looked on with a mix of bemusement and growing interest.

PB whistled happily. “Motherfucking cocksucker!” He said, loudly and with a disturbing amount of enthusiasm.  The bouncer growled.

Jason weighed his options; a fight might make him feel better, but he didn’t want PB to get hurt in the scuffle.

God, when did he start _liking_ the feathery freak?

He backed up through the crowd of curious onlookers, while the parrot ruffled his feathers and made threatening noises.  With a resigned sigh, he hit the street and headed for a convenience store to pick up a bottle of something strong. Returning to the safe house was probably the best option anyway and would still get him just as drunk. 

 

And really, what else had he been expecting? Considering his whole life had been going so spectacularly to hell, and he seemed to be stuck in a never ending vortex of ‘what can go wrong, will go wrong’, opening his safe-house door did not bring the relief and solitude he had been hoping for.

 Tim didn’t look surprised to see him; in fact he didn’t even look guilty to be caught poking through Jason’s stuff.  Some days Jason hated his family and their complete lack of personal boundaries. The kid was dressed in civvies and looked every inch the teenage boy from a good family, and not the evil genius super spy he actually was.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” Jason snarled. He was angry – angry at Dick, at Lewis at himself and mad as hell at Tim for invading his space without permission.

“Checking in on you, you stormed out. Dick was worried.”

“ _Dick_ is consorting with the enemy.”

“Eddy Evens?” Tim asked, doubtfully.

“Worse, that stupid social worker.” Jason strode into the room, very aware that he was practically exuding the threat of violence. He backed Tim into a corner, it felt good to see the obnoxious kid look momentarily concerned, like he had forgotten Jason was crazy and dangerous and killed people who pissed him off.  “Here’s the real question: how did you find this place? I was careful - I wasn’t followed when I was here earlier. And yet, here you are.”

Tim’s eyes flicked towards Jason’s prosthetic, telling him all he needed to know.

“You lo-jacked my _leg_?”

Tim’s lips twisted into what looked like an involuntarily smug smirk. Jason’s world narrowed to that expression, his body tensing – never let it be said he was above beating the living shit out of any member of his family, especially not the replacement. The situation would have probably ended in violence had it not been for PB, still perched on Jason’s shoulder. The bird ruffled his feathers aggressively and whistled the intro to America’s Most Wanted. It was so ridiculous it completely broke Jason free of his gathering rage and he took a step back. PB _clunk fizzed_ him a couple of times, and Jason suspected he was disappointed that a fight had been averted.

“Oh, God damn it.” Jason backed off and threw himself down on the couch, making the parrot screech and hop from his shoulder to the sofa.  He wasn’t sure if he should he impressed or insulted. “I hate this family and their freaky shit.” He said, looking up at the ceiling in despair.

“It’s how we show we care,” Tim said, as he carefully approached the couch.

Jason gave him a sour look. He took out his bottle of cheap scotch and took a swig, grimacing slightly at the burn. “Drink,” he said, passing the bottle to Tim, who was now perched on the other end of the sofa.

“I don’t drink.”

“Yeah? Well now’s a good time to start.”

Tim ignored him, and the outstretched bottle. His face intent again. “What were you doing at the Crystal Ball?”

“Catching up with some friends. Stay the fuck out of my business.”

“Tell me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Jason said, insincerely.

Tim grimaced. “Jason, I told you about Evens to give you a heads up – not for you to hunt him down and kill him.” 

Jason gave him a disbelieving look. “What the fuck did you think I was going to do with that information?”

“I thought it might push you to tell Bruce and Dick the truth.”

And there it was. Proof Tim knew what Jason had done. Jason’s vision greyed out for a moment, disbelief and dread clawing at his stomach, even as a sense of unreality descended on him. If someone else knew, then it had really happened. He had nearly killed Dick, had fucked him up way beyond fixing.

 

_“Clunk fizz?”_

Jason came back to himself with his head down, arms braced against his knees – _knee_.  He really had to stop this swooning crap. Maybe Dick was rubbing off on him. That thought caused all sorts of bad-wrong images to flash through his mind and he groaned in despair. Tim had probably been right about the thing with Dick, but now he had started he didn’t want to stop.

“Jason?” Tim’s worried voice invaded his anxious musings and brought him tumbling back to reality. “Jason, are you ok?”

“Fuck off.” The one thing more humiliating than having a minor break from reality was doing it front of someone. And Tim of all people – only Bruce would have been worse.

_“Clunk fizz?”_ PB repeated, and to Jason’s mind, he sounded worried, or as worried as a parrot could sound.  Jason blindly reached out a hand to comfort him. PB latched onto his sleeve and crawled up his arm to perch back on his shoulder, rubbing his beak in Jason’s hair. Without raising his head, Jason petted him in turn.

Then there was the distinctive sound of a picture being taken.

“Can you not take photos of my breakdown please?” Jason growled. The nerve of that kid.

“It’s really cute how the two of you have bonded.”

“Fuck _off._ ”

“But seriously, Jason, you can’t just go and kill Evens. What if Bruce traces it back to you? That will make it even worse when the truth comes out.”

“That’s why I’ll be careful and won’t leave any evidence, smart-ass.”

“Right. That usually works with Bruce, does it? You know him, you know how he gets when someone hurts his family.  He will keep looking until he gets what he wants, you _know_ that!”

Jason dug his fingers into the parrot’s grizzled plumage, distantly he noted it was growing back now the bird had stopped plucking.

PB couldn’t offer him any comfort; nothing could change the fact that Jason had been the one that had hurt Bruce’s family. Had hurt his _own_. The fact it was an accident meant nothing to him and would mean nothing to Bruce.

He could never find out.

Tim was looking at him with a guarded expression – probably hoping Jason would magically change his position or some happy clappy crap. The kid had spent too much time around Dick. It was stupid, and it didn’t make sense.

“You knew that’s what I would do, so why tell me?” he asked after a moment, finally lifting his head enough to look Tim in the eye.

“I wanted a chance to persuade you otherwise. I didn’t want Bruce to find out from Evens. It needs to come from you.”

“And if I kill Evens the problem goes away!”

Tim had the audacity to roll his eyes. “We’ve been over the likelihood of that succeeding.”

“I can do it. And if you helped me, we could make damn sure it would never come to light.” Jason said. In all honesty, getting Tim on his side would be his best shot at success.

“Help you? I am helping you!” Tim looked determined, but the way he was worrying his bottom lip gave away his anxiety.  “Are you going to kill me too? Because if you kill Evens, I will tell Bruce.”

“Why?” Jason demanded, “Why make it worse than it is!”

“Because it’s your gung-ho attitude to murder that got you into this situation!” Tim was breathing heavy and his jaw was jutting forward in tense defiance. He looked young and strangely vulnerable.

Jason had to take a few calming breaths and try to reel his temper back in, something he was better at now than he had been before the explosion. “You telling me you honestly don’t want to murder the fucks that the law doesn’t touch? At best the system is weak, at worst it’s corrupt, and the rapists, drug dealers and murderers just go straight back out onto the street. It doesn’t make you angry? Doesn’t make you want a more permanent kind of justice?”

Tim sighed and leaned back against the sofa, his hands curled into loose fists in his lap. “Honestly? Of course I feel like that sometimes - we all do, even Bruce. I think about how I could make certain criminals disappear so that no one, not even Batman, would find them.” He reached for Jason’s bottle and took a small sip, wincing at the taste. “I could do it, too. I’m worried one day I might.”

“You should give it a go, it’s quite liberating. At least, it is when you don’t accidently blow yourself up.” Jason snatched the bottle back and took a long pull. Despite the tension and fear curling in his gut, hearing Tim’s words was calming, steadying.

Jason _believed_ in his way of justice, and knowing he wasn’t alone in wanting it - even he was he only one with enough resolve to actually do it - was oddly comforting.

Jason leant back against the couch, absently passing the bottle back to Tim, who grimaced but took a small sip. It wasn’t like Tim to drink, and Jason supressed a smile at the thought he might be doing so for the sake of solidarity.

That thought pinged something in the back of his mind. Something that had been lingering quietly since the phone call, buried beneath all the panic and agitation. He grabbed hold of it and followed it back to his initial question to Tim.

What did Tim _think_ he was going to do with that info?

Tim was far from stupid. He _knew_ Jason would try to cover this up. He _knew_ that. So why the call? Could it be as simple as not wanting to disrupt the family even more? Did Tim, master chess player and general manipulative bastard just do shit like that without a plan?

Not in Jason’s experience. He eyed Tim speculatively while the boy made slightly disgusted faces at the label on the bottle of cheap scotch. What was the kid actually aiming for? Telling Bruce would be a disaster - he wasn’t a man to forgive easily on a good day. Blowing up his favourite batling would have been bad, permanently damaging him was an unforgivable offence. Jason could understand that. He would never forgive himself as long as he lived, but as things were now, he could at least attempt to make amends to Dick.

And if he were really honest, it would crush him to lose the beginnings of the bridge he and Bruce were building across their broken relationship.

Telling Bruce was out of the question, Tim had to know that.

Which left telling Dick.

As if summoned by the thought, Jason’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Tim continued to show great fascination for the bottle in his hands and Jason scowled at him in mounting suspicion as he fished his phone from his pants.

It was from Babs and read: _Incoming_

 

That could only mean Dick, Bruce or one of the others was about to break up the party - and If she was texting him now it probably meant she knew where he was, which indicated she and Tim were in it together, and that thought was _terrifying_. He might be able to outwit one of them, but both? Not a chance in hell. Even Bruce on the top of his game wouldn’t be able to. Jason was doomed.

There was a clatter and a crash and the door burst open, revealing Dick, looking slightly dishevelled. His hair was a mess and he still had his t-shirt on the wrong way round, but at least he was wearing shoes.

"I’m sorry, Jay!" Dick yelled before he was even through the door. PB screeched happily and launched himself off Jason’s shoulder towards Dick who lunged forward and caught him. He cuddled the bird like a teddy bear, looking very cute and lost.

"Hi Dick," Tim said, a guileless look on his face.

"Tim! Thank you so much for going after him," Dick said, as he moved around the sofa to hug his little brother. The action put PB's sharp beak very close to Tim’s face and Jason spitefully hoped the bird would bite him. Sadly they broke apart before any maiming could occur, although PB looked like he was regretting not getting an attack in while he could.

Dick meanwhile had rounded on Jason, his eyes wide, earnest and a little wild. "I’m sorry I upset you Jason, I won’t do it again. Please don't leave."

Jason rubbed his face. He was too emotionally fraught to deal with this shit. "You _will_ do it again, but I’m not leaving. I’m pissed off with you, though."

"Sorry," Dick repeated. He looked dejected, with his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. Jason was not ready to forgive him yet, even if he did look adorable.

"How'd you find me?" he asked, mostly to gain some breathing space and a chance to give himself a stern talking to about the dangers of finding Dick’s crestfallen posture and pleading face endearing.

"I put a tracer in your phone."

"You did _what_?" What the fuck was wrong with his family? Seriously. "You can’t put your t-shirt on the right way round but you can find your way to bugging my phone?"

Dick looked surprised and pulled his shirt out to look at it. "Whoops!" he said, and started to tug it off, forgetting he was holding the parrot and getting the pair of them tangled in the process. Jason shut his eyes and tried to block it out. He felt like he was on the edge of a precipice, where one step wrong could spell disaster. He knew he was going to fall, it was just a case of when, where and how high the drop was going to be.

He still thought the best answer was killing Evens and burying all the evidence he could find, maybe lay some false trails to keep the Bat happy. But Tim had spoken the truth: Bruce would keep hunting until he was sure he had found all the people responsible for his sons’ injuries. Evens suddenly disappearing would be very suspicious.

On one hand, he knew he was going to try it anyway. On the other, he suspected, somewhere along the line, Bruce was going to find out. He had to accept that and act accordingly.

That left Dick. When Bruce discovered the truth he would not only tell Dick, but also probably forbid Jason from seeing him. And that was unacceptable. The questions was- would it be better if it came from him? He doubted it, but at least he could attempt a sympathetic spin – or at the least tell him without Bruce’s rage and bias. He might still lose him. Probably would. But he had more of a chance if he came clean himself.

Damn Tim and his big stupid brain.

Jason glanced at them, Tim had assisted Dick in removing the parrot from his t-shirt- which was now the right way around, and was now attempting to detangle the parrot from his person. PB was not cooperating and was hanging off Tim’s sleeve with a quiet sort of determination.

Dick was laughing at them; he looked like he always looked – handsome, sunny, and full of joy and confidence - but Jason knew him better now. Knew his weaknesses, his emotional fragility, his anger and the storminess that lurked beneath the sunshine. It was just a damn tragedy he had only recognized those parts when forced to view them through the magnified glass of a brain injury.

 It was those caustic, difficult parts of him that Jason related to, that Jason loved.

Damn it, he was so screwed.

“-and then he got mad because I told the social worker he was impotent,” Dick was saying, when Jason finally started paying attention, “but I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

Tim was looking like he would rather be anywhere else, and the horrified expression on his face would have made Jason’s day if the subject had been something a little less humiliating. He took a long few gulps of whisky. If he couldn’t wish a sudden fiery death upon himself, drunkenness was the next best thing. 

Tim’s discomfort on the topic of their pseudo-incestuous and potentially catastrophic relationship, as well as the fact he obviously thought Jason was going to murder him at any moment for being unwillingly privy to the messy details, actually helped Jason ignore the shame. In fact he felt slightly lighter.

Perhaps it was just like that sometimes with family.

It was a pity he’d had that revelation just in time to fuck up with his family completely. Except perhaps with Tim- he knew what Jason had done and still treated him much the same, maybe better. Or maybe that was just Jason allowing him to interact the way he had always wanted to. Either way, whatever happened, it looked like he would still have Tim as an annoying younger brother with Machiavellian tendencies.

Jason realized he had made his decision. If he were in Dick’s position, hearing it from someone else would be a huge blow. It would enrage him, but more importantly it would hurt him deeply.

 And Jason had hurt Dick enough.

He caught Tim’s eye and gestured towards the door. Tim stared at him for a moment, surprised and calculating before nodding, a tiny, approving smile on his lips. He was such a patronizing asshat of a little brother.

While Tim said his goodbyes to Dick, Jason began mentally preparing himself – he attempted to gather his thoughts, but how the fuck did you broach a topic like this? ‘ _Ya know all that brain damage you have that has totally ruined your life and caused huge distress to the people you love more than life its self? Yeah that was me – surprise!_   He didn’t fancy his chances of surviving that revelation let along maintaining some sort of relationship with Dick.

He looked at Dick, who was fiddling with his phone while PB glared at it. He looked happy.

 Jason took one last fortifying pull on his scotch and tipped his head back to look at the cracked and dirty celling of his safe house. This was going to _suck_.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is especially for Iamjasonssmirkingrevenge - you are a very bad person.

 

 

Despite his wonky brain, Dick was still a smart guy and he clearly sensed trouble was coming. Jason’s stomach rolled as he met Dick’s anxious gaze, and he distantly wished he had sent PB away with Tim. The last thing any of them needed was the bird to get hurt in the fallout from the inevitable explosion.

“Are you going leave me?” Dick asked, breaking through Jason’s tumultuous thoughts. “Are you moving out?”

“Why would you think that?” Jason said, hoping to gain a little more time, although for what he wasn’t sure. To bring some order to his arguments? To dig up some magic words that wouldn’t bring the end of his first real relationship?  Not likely. He tried to focus on what Dick was saying, but his obvious distress was making Jason feel close to panic.

Dick waved a hand as he spoke, the other one cradling PB with surprising gentleness considering his agitation. “We’re on neutral ground, Tim left really suddenly and he looked pleased – I know he disapproves.” Dick shrugged unhappily and ran his fingers though PB’s plumage, soothing the bird further. “That and the fact you look like you might throw up on yourself at any moment.”

For one moment Jason considered it; just break up with him, just leave. It might be the coward’s way, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if he just ended it now, moved out and maybe emigrated to Antarctica so he never had to see Dick looking so sad again. Maybe if he broke it off today, it wouldn’t hurt Dick as much when the truth finally came out. But deep down he knew it would – and he knew that he needed to be the one to tell him what had happened.

“No, Dick. That’s not what I want. But I do have something I need to talk to you about.” To his own ears his voice sounded like it was coming from far away.

“Fucknugget,” PB said. Jason wondered if the bird was picking up on their anxiety - he actually looked worried.

“Are you dying?” Dick blurted, “Is it cancer?”

“What? No! Why the fuck would you think I had cancer?”

“I always think people have cancer. Like, I know we are all likely to put our lives in danger doing our night jobs, but people getting sick and dying really scares me.”

“Well thanks for sharing, Dick. No I don’t have cancer or any other illness – not to my knowledge at least.”

“Well _what_ then?” Dick was getting that wild eyed _‘I’m going to snap and beat you to death with whatever’s closest_ ’ look on his face and Jason held up what he hoped was a calming hand. Especially as the potential weapon Dick had latched onto was an increasingly apprehensive looking PB.

“I’m fine, Dick, and we’ll talk about it in just a moment, but first can I take PB off you before you squash him?”

Dick glanced down in surprise at the bird clasped in his lap and paused for a moment, then handed him over gently. Jason scooped the bird up and carried him to the safe-house bedroom. It was sparse with no wires or free standing electrical devices, so leaving an angry parrot loose in there would probably be slightly safer than the bathroom. He briefly considered keeping PB with him, due to the birds strange ability to defuse Dick’s anger, but the possibility of the parrot getting hurt was too great – if ever there was a time for Dick to completely flip out and accidently injure the bird this was going to be it.

Parrot safely stowed in the bedroom, Jason headed reluctantly back to the sofa. He considered putting more space between him and Dick, but eventually decided that he would deserve whatever violence Dick might dole out.

They stared at one another. How to start? What could he say? Dick was clutching at a cushion like his life depended on it, his knuckles white with tension. “Please, Jay,” he said, his eyes desperate.

Jason swallowed bile. “It’s about the explosion,” he began at last.

“About the witness?”

It hadn’t occurred to Jason that Dick would know about that – but he was probably in contact with Bruce by phone far more often than Jason was aware. “Sort of,” he hedged, after a brief pause to struggle with his words.

Dick relaxed slightly and leaned forward, eyes suddenly bright “Did you kill him?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jason shrugged awkwardly. “I’ve thought about it a lot. But no, I haven’t killed him.”

Dick looked briefly bemused, then nodded, “That’s good. Bruce would know it was you – he seems sure that if you found out you would hunt the man down.”

“Why would he think that?” Jason stuttered

“He figured you would want revenge.”

That made so much sense. If Jason hadn’t been the cause of the whole thing, he would have stopped at _nothing_ to hunt down the perpetrators himself, and the first stop would be Evens. It was the perfect excuse for killing him; he could even have pinned the whole thing on him given enough time. Lost his own panic and guilt, he had completely overlooked the perfect way out of his predicament. Possibly he had been carefully steered away from it by Tim, who seemed too intent on ruining his life with common sense and honesty, but just as likely was his own crushing inability to use logic in the face of his own emotions.

He stared, wide eyed at Dick, suddenly indecisive about whether he should go ahead with his confession. If Bruce never found out, if Jason got to Evens first, then it was quite possible Dick wouldn’t find out at all. Even though all his rationalizations for telling Dick still held true, the temptation to not go through with it was incredibly strong and he wavered on the edge of a lie.

Then Dick’s expression slipped back into something anxious, sliding further into misery.

“This is about the other thing, isn’t it?” Dick said, eyes downcast.

“What other thing?” With the way Dick’s mind jumped from subject to subject that could be _anything_.

“You blame me for what happened. I understand, I blame myself too. I lay awake and think about what’s happened to you, how it’s changed you and if it hadn’t been for me it never would have happened. You would still be the Red Hood, and you wouldn’t be stuck as my keeper. I’m sorry Jason, I wish I could fix it.”

And that there was the sound of Jason heart breaking. More, it was the sound of why he had to tell Dick, even if it meant losing everything.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dick. You would have done the same for me - hell you probably would have done the same for the dealer that ran in ahead of you, if you had been conscious.”

Dick shrugged, his mouth twisting. “I know I’m a burden to you, sometimes I wish I had just died. It would be cleaner than making my family deal with me now.” He blinked rapidly and Jason suspected he was attempting to hold back tears.

“Dick, your family still love you, I like living with you. And I feel like that too sometimes, like I wish it had just ended there instead of dragging on in this insurable way,” Jason couldn’t hold back the wave of sudden emotion and his voice rose alarmingly.

Dick flinched and hunched his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Jason. I wish I could fix it! I know you feel guilty too, but it’s not your fault either.”

“It _is_ ,” the truth tasted bitter on his tongue, and there was no rush of relief, just cold dread.

“No, Jason, you can’t blame yourself – without you I would be dead.”

“Without me you would be _whole_. Saving you hardly counts if I caused your injuries in the first place.” Jason tried to unclench his fists, but he couldn’t and he felt phantom flames licking at his lost leg. “It was _completely_ my fault, all of it. I set the charges.”

Dick blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“I rigged the place to blow.”

“I don’t understand,” Dick said, his voice wavering in uncertainty

“I set the bomb that blew us up! You weren’t supposed to _be_ there!”

Dick was just looking at him, his expression shifting slightly with his thoughts, as though he had to experience each one before he could decide on an action to take.

 Jason was suddenly overcome with the need to _explain_ , even though it was pointless. “The warehouse was being used by the Vipers,” Jason began, his voice finding strength as his anger towards the gang resurfaced. “You know they killed a twelve year old girl to send a message to her dad? They decapitated her. A child.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, quietly, like his words might shatter him if he spoke to loud.

No doubt Dick remembered, it had been an ugly scene, one of the worst Jason had seen in Gotham. There would be more, the new gangs bringing their poison into the cities on the east coast ran themselves like the South American drug cartels. You crossed them and not just you, but your family your loved ones, even your fucking house pet would be slaughtered. It only took a couple of gruesomely murdered children to stop people talking, or even thinking about disobeying orders.

“They have enough money to ensure the bosses never see the inside of a jail cell, and it’s getting so any judge that convicts them has to go into hiding – so they let them go. I had to send a message and it had to be big. Half their operations were running through those warehouses, the cops knew and did nothing. There were no civilians in the area and it would hit the Vipers where it hurt – the loss of the drugs and the labs would cost them thousands, millions maybe. It was the best way.” Jason took a breath through sudden dizziness. He had no idea why he was trying to justify himself to Dick. Knowing _why_ he had done it could hardly make up for the consequences of his actions.

Dick was still staring, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, Dick. I would give my life to make it right, and even though I know I can never make up for what you’ve lost, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Is that why you live with me? _Guilt_?”

“At first,” Jason admitted. “But not now. I live with you because I like you.”

“I don’t believe you!” Dick began angrily, then his voice turned pleading, “Tell me you’re lying, Jay.”

“I’m not.”

“You did this to me? You let me think it was my fault when it was you? Do you realise how that _felt_?”

Yeah, Jason had an inkling of how that might have felt and he wished for nothing more than the earth to open and swallow him. Dick’s face was red and he was showing all the signs of an impending outburst of violence – but up to this point he’d seemed frozen in place by the magnitude his own rage.

It couldn’t last though and he suddenly exploded outwards – flinging the cushion in Jason’s face with enough force the impact threw him off balance - which was all that saved him from a broken nose as Dick’s fist just grazed his chin as he fell to the floor. Unfortunately, Dick’s lunge had put him in reach of another weapon, somewhat more substantial than a cushion or a parrot. Jason cursed himself for not removing other important items along with PB, but he hadn’t been thinking straight.

He had left the spare prosthetic he had worn to the Crystal Ball propped up against the side of the sofa.

 Big mistake.

Jason had a clear and bitter moment to appreciate the irony of being beaten to death with his own false leg before Dick swung it at his head. The angle was bad, with the sofa and the coffee table in the way, but the first blow still had him seeing stars.

Dick was yelling at him, but Jason did his best not to listen to the words – the physical pain he could take, relish even, but the emotional stuff was worse than any wound. He didn’t defend himself, other than curling up slightly to limit the impact on his face and head. He was open to being punished for his actions, and to facilitating the release of some of Dick’s justified anger, but he did draw the line at being killed with a fake leg. Apparently he did have some pride left, after all. For the most part it didn’t matter – although he landed a few good hits, just as many of Dick’s swings hit the table, sending up showers of splinters and woodchips.

He could hear PB squawking and shrieking in the background, and he was glad he had made sure the bird was safe.

 

 

Jason woke to gentle, calloused hands on his face. Something wet was dabbing at his split lip, making it sting. He blinked his eyes open but his vision was blurry and he shut them again quickly as the light hurt his head. “Dick?” he asked, voice weak and pathetic. He was vaguely hopeful the past few days had been a nightmare and he had just knocked himself out being stubborn about his shower chair again.

“Shhh, Jason, let me finish your face before you start talking.” Tim’s voice. Not a dream then, damn it.

Jason forced his eyes open again, squinting against the dim light. He was laid out on the sofa, and Tim was crouched by his side dabbing antiseptic on his face. It stung like a bitch when it touched his broken skin and he relished the pain, both from that and the other injuries his body was informing him of. Those hurts stopped him feeling the other pains – the emotional ones that made him want to cry like a lost child.

“Happy?” he asked Tim, adding as much venom to his voice as he could. If he had the strength he would have hit him, but if he was too weak for violence then he was more than capable of landing a few verbal blows.

“No, Jason, I’m not happy.” Tim shoved a bit of gauze onto Jason’s bruised cheekbone with more force than was truly necessary. “It’s worse than I anticipated, but not as bad as it could have been. Nothing’s broken and your head is hard enough to take a couple of wallops.”

“So you’re saying you predicted me being beaten half to death?”

“Don’t exaggerate, Jase. You’ll be fine. Besides, even before the explosion Dick tended to deal with big emotional shocks with his fists. He held back quite a bit, considering.”

“He beat me up with my own leg,” Jason said dully. What was his life, where that was an actual sentence to come out of his mouth?

Tim winced and then his lips twitched into a smile. “He always did have a flair for the dramatic. Speaking of which, you’re going to have to do without your prosthetics until you can reorder them – he threw both of them out the window.”

Jason looked down at himself and sure enough he was missing his new prosthetic, his baggy pants looking sad and flaccid where his leg used to be. Not an image he wanted right then. “Out the _window_?” he said weakly. “Did they kill anyone?” They were twelve floors up; a falling leg could do a lot of damage from that height.

“Minor traffic accident, no injuries.”

“Awesome. Did I mention that I hate you?”

“Not recently.”

“Well I do. You’ve ruined my relationship, my life and my face.” He pointed an accusing finger towards his split lip and what he was sure was becoming a seriously impressive black eye.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Tim said, and then offered him something that might have resembled a reassuring smile. “Dick will forgive you, I’m sure of it. The question is, will you forgive _him_ for hurting you like this?”

“In a heartbeat,” Jason admitted quietly. “I don’t think he will be quite so lenient though, I mean have you met him? Guy can really hold a grudge.”

Tim grimaced. “Yeah, but this could be one instance his brain injury might work in your favour, his emotions fluctuate so much, he might get over it faster than you might think.”

“I live in hope,” Jason said, sullenly, as he probed the worst of the bruises with careful fingers.

Tim looked at him with an inscrutable expression. “We’ll figure it out. I should have stayed here while you told him– I suspected he might lash out, but not to this extent. If we get things back on track then you have to nip this behavior in the bud.”

“He’s not a dog, Tim.”

“No, he’s a strong, highly trained and potentially deadly young man with severe impulse control issues. He’s a danger to himself and others and he has to get control of it. We’ll help.”

“We? We who? Don’t see Bruce getting in on the caring and sharing act when he gets wind of this shit.”

_“I’ll_ help,” Tim clarified.

“Why? I didn’t think you approved.”

Tim scrunched his face up in distaste “I don’t, I think it’s weird and a spectacularly stupid idea. But I acknowledge that you both have feelings for one another and that you make each other happy for some baffling reason. You’re my family, I want you both to be okay. Having said that, this violence has to stop – it’s bad for both of you.”

“I still hate you.”

“Sure you do, Jase. Sure you do.”

“Shut up, you little shit, and go fetch my bird.”

Tim made an unhappy face, but dutifully went to release PB from the bedroom.

 

Later, after Jason had been forced to take some Tylenol and drink two cups of some nasty but soothing herbal tea, he and Tim sat on the couch together and watched the news. Jason was half afraid he would see Dick on there, rampaging across Gotham fighting friend and foe alike, but there was nothing but the usual depressing array of war, crime and capes. He petted PB, who in his earlier distress had plucked some of his new plumage and was now huddled dejectedly in Jason arms. Jason really felt for him, poor little dinorat. Whatever his life had been before, it didn’t seem to have improved with his new home. 

As he watched a segment about some maniac setting fires in Metropolis, he wondered how Dick was doing – if he had gone back to the apartment, gone straight to Bruce, or was off causing trouble somewhere. He wondered if he should attempt to go home himself or just send someone to get his stuff.

In the meantime, there was something else that had been bothering him, one outstanding question that had remained unanswered. He shifted until he could see Tim’s face, illuminated by the lights of the TV.

“Tim?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you know?” he didn’t need to specify what he was referring too, and Tim had probably been expecting the question for a while.

“I was there, Jason. I was first on the scene. How do you think the two of you ended up in hospital as civilians?”

“Didn’t really think about it.” He probably should have, but he’d had other things on his mind like his missing leg and Dick being a mental case.

“I was on patrol with Nightwing and we separated, each chasing a different suspect. I was only a block over when the blast happened.” Tim swallowed and looked at his hands clenched in his lap. “You had already dragged Dick free of the wreckage when I arrived. I honestly don’t know how you did it, you were a mess. Dick’s face was covered in blood, it was just pouring out of the head wound.” He shuddered, and there was real horror lurking behind his eyes as he spoke. “Your legs were horrific, like slabs of burnt meat.”

Jason realised it must have been devastating for the kid, he must have believed they were both going to die. Dick had apparently attempted to prove him right by going into cardiac arrest when the ambulance arrived. Not fun for anybody to witness, but especially not family.

Tim shivered and Jason resisted the urge to comfort him, instead falling back to more comfortable methods of communication. “Bet you’re never going to eat BBQ again, huh?” he asked, forcing a grin. “That delicious smell of smoky, home cooked leg-of-me.”

“That’s _gross_. But true. Although the smell of melted plastic was pretty strong too. What the hell were your pants made out of? Pure polyester?”

“You’re hardly one to give me fashion advice. Now stop avoiding and answer my question.” Jason pointed a reproving finger and wagged it a few times for emphasis. He wondered if he had a concussion.

“Fine. I didn’t want to let you go to the hospital without me, but I had to clean up the scene before the police arrived.”

“What a good little Batling you are.” Jason couldn’t help the snide tone of voice. Work _always_ came first in their family.

“It was necessary. I called Bruce and told him he had to go to the hospital right now – and just in case he thought he should wait until after patrol, I patched Babs and Alfred into the call too.”

“You’re evil,” Jason said, approvingly.

Tim sniffed disdainfully. “It worked, that’s what counts. Anyway, after I sent you to the hospital I stayed to do the clear up. I found the remains of the device and I know your signature, so I took it to hide it from the cops. But ended up hiding it from Bruce too. I don’t know why.”

“You _do_ know why,” Jason said, as further information didn’t seem to be forthcoming. “You know why, you just aren’t comfortable with the answer.” Jason could relate to that, but he wasn’t feeling overly charitable with Tim at the moment.

“Fine.  Once I realized he didn’t know, I destroyed the evidence because I didn’t want to fracture our family any more than it already was. I panicked.”

And that was Tim’s dirty little secret. Panic and illogical actions - It was the response of a boy who had lost too much, not a masked vigilantly, not a super genius rich kid, Just a boy who couldn’t stand to lose any more family.

“It’s going to end up that way anyway,” Jason said, surprised at the gentleness of his own voice, completely at odds with his earlier thoughts and spiteful questions.

“I realized that when I discovered there was a witness.”

“So why not help me get rid of him? Problem solved!” Jason just couldn’t understand why this concept was so damn hard for people to grasp.

“If you were just some low level crock, and you witnessed the explosion, what would you do? Bearing in mind you knew who did it, and that they would eventually find out you knew and would probably hunt you down to keep your mouth shut?”

“Run?”

“Where? The Red Hood’s reputation is fairly global. Even if you ran you would still be a threat, maybe worth the extra effort to catch. If it was me, I would stop myself from being the most valuable witness, by making sure I was not the only one with that information.”

“I would still hunt your ass down,” Jason said stubbornly.

“So if I was going down, then I would make damn sure I would be screwing you over as I went.”

“You think he’s already blabbed?”

“I know he has. As soon as he surfaced, I started hearing rumours – he was going to try and make a deal with the Bat. No, he had swapped info in exchange for getting out the county. Lots of rumours, no sign of Evens in the last month or so. Even if by some small chance he’s still in Gotham, even if you find him and make sure there’s not a trace left of him, Bruce is still going to find out. And that’s one revelation best coming from you.”

That explained why no one knew where Evens was. He had probably done a runner – a wise man.

It also meant Tim was right, again.

“He won’t forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me, so I can’t even blame him for that.”

“He will, eventually although it might take a while. He forgave Damian for trying to kill me that time, and he did it on purpose.”

“That says a lot about Bruce’s parenting skills or lack thereof. He likes being angry at me, it makes him feel better to blame me for his own failures in the child-care department. And the decent human being department.” Jason scoffed.

“Bruce has his issues, and he screws up a lot when dealing with us and our emotional needs – but that’s because of his own issues, not because he doesn’t care, and not because he blames others, he blames himself plenty.”

Jason would have completely dismissed Tim’s statements six months ago, but now, having gone through his own massive guilt party, and having seen the impact of his and Dick’s injuries on Bruce Jason was forced to admit Tim’s assessment might be right.

He had to accept that although he was emotionally stunted Bruce loved them, _all_ of them. And although he was Batman, apparently infallible and somehow superior to all mere mortals, he was in reality, just a man. A man prone to mistakes and occasional selfish whims, just like any other.

In some deep truthful part of himself, Jason was forced to acknowledge that part of his rage at Bruce was not just feeling betrayed, it was about the all-consuming grief of loss. Bruce had been everything to him in their years together, and he had stupidly allowed himself to love and trust in a way he had not done for more years than he could remember.

He couldn’t forgive Bruce because in so doing he would leave himself open to the same devastation as he had suffered as a dumb-ass teenager. He wondered if that was how Bruce felt about him, too. Jason drew in a shuddering breath, dizzy and pained from the sudden feeling of self-realisation. He was going to lose him again anyway, Dick too. It _hurt_.

“Dick might go to Bruce anyway, he might already know.” Jason managed at last. He appreciated the fact Tim had let him be so he could sort through his thoughts, but he very much needed help to ground him now. Tim was the only person he was certain of right then. Wasn’t _that_ a weird turn around.

“Maybe,” Tim said. He didn’t sound convinced.

“You don’t think so?”

“No. Dick doesn’t go running to Bruce with his hurts, he holes up and angsts about them until someone kicks his ass back into action.”

Jason grinned at the very accurate description, but then sunk back into his own thoughts. “Should I go home?” he asked, more to himself than Tim, although the kid answered anyway.

“Yeah. I’ll come with you if you want, to prevent any further violence.”

“You think you can stop him? I wouldn’t even put a dollar on that, not even fifty cents.”

“True, but you’re going to need some help anyway – you’re currently the one legged wonder.”

“Fuck off,” Jason said. But it was true, he had very little practice moving around without a prosthetic. His upper body strength was more than good enough to use crutches but he didn’t actually _have_ any. So, unless he wanted to try to hop back to the apartment he was going to need some help.  “Do you ever get tired of being right?” he asked in resignation.

Tim looked smug. “Nope, it’s my calling in life.”

“I hate you,” Jason said, with feeling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from the dead.. a long awaited update! Sorry for the unreasonably long wait >.<

 

 

As soon as the sun rose, bright and warm in a disgusting show of spite for Jason’s unhappy state, Tim flew into action. It was mildly terrifying to watch him work as he made a flurry of calls and sent off emails with speed that would make even the best PA cry with envy.

Jason lay on the sofa and felt sorry for himself, while fighting down his own twinge of impressed jealousy at his little brothers brutal efficiency. Within the hour Tim had ordered - and received - a new pair of crutches, pancakes with extra bacon, coffee, a parrot-friendly breakfast, put in an order for exact copies of both of Jason’s previous prosthetics and had completed his mornings office work, or delegated it accordingly.

Even though some days it seemed that Tim was out to ruin Jason's life, it was increasingly apparent he owed the kid big time. Maybe he would by him a fruit basket or something.

“Can you get me a new PS4?” he asked instead of saying thanks, because he was a coward who couldn’t even offer that last shred of his own pride. “PB or Dick killed the other one with a combination of fruit juice and disembowelment. Fairly sure it was PB that did that bit, but you can never be sure with those two.”

Tim shoved a clean T-shirt at him. “I could get you one, yeah - but I won’t,” he said, curtly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re an asshole.”

“Fair enough,” Jason agreed, nodding and winching as the movement jarred his bruised body. “I think Dick gave me whiplash...”

“Yeah? Well you gave him a permanent brain injury, so fair’s fair.”

Jason winced again. “Harsh, dude,” he said, but it wasn’t untrue. Clearly Tim's kindness only went so far and he had moved past helpful and back to being pissed. Jason couldn’t blame him for that, but he wasn’t going to have the time to dwell on it as he reluctantly took the crutches Tim handed him and got shakily to his feet. _Foot_.

His life was the fucking worst.

He looked at PB whose pale, silver-gray eyes were watching him closely, as it made its way through a chunk of broccoli.

“You coming?” Jason asked him.

The parrot regarded him for a moment, then stuck the broccoli in its beak and climbed up Jason's right pant leg, settling on his shoulder with a ruffle of his damaged plumage, and began crunching loudly on his breakfast with an aggressive sort of determination.

“I think it’s pissed off with you,” Tim commented, somewhat smugly, then turned away before Jason could respond.

By the time they made it to the parking garage, Jason's gut was churning with so many emotions he didn’t even know which to start with; Anxiety? Guilt? Fear? Anger? Anger was always a good one, but in this case it was directed towards himself, and taking it out on either of his companions just didn’t feel right.

 

 

Tim helped him into a nondescript car he was barely old enough to drive, and Jason settled into the seat awkwardly, holding PB in his lap.

They were silent for a few moments while Jason wrestled with his thoughts some more and Tim moved them into the downtown traffic, weaving his way through the honking cars.

“You mad at me?” Jason asked at last - a stupid question, but he had gotten kind of used to the fact that Tim had appeared to be in his corner. The loss was upsetting. “I get that everyone is, and will be when they find out – I am fairly sure Damian will make an actual attempt on my life at some point - but you’ve been helping me. I don’t get it.”

Tim pursed his lips, considering. “It’s a hard one to answer,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Because, yeah, on one hand I’m furious that something you did took away a part of my brother. I hate to see him hurting, both because he is having to struggle with new aspects of his behaviour and personality, and because helping people is a fundamental part of his identity.” Tim paused to viciously cut off a sleek red car, which sent a storm of honking their way. “It’s more than identity, it’s an obsession for him. And I’m worried that the two ways he had to slake that need have now been taken away.”

“Yeah,” Jason was fairly sure now was one of those times it was okay for him to wallow whole-heartedly in misery and self-recrimination. He held onto PB as Tim swerved in front of a truck, laying on the horn in casual defiance. The kid drove like someone who had been taught by Dick, and Jason wasn’t sure if it was terrifying or amusing. Maybe both.

Settling back into his lane, Tim let out a whoosh of breath, shrugging like he was trying to roll the tension out of his shoulders. “But, even though all of that’s true, Dick is alive... and although he’s different, he’s still Dick – just with a few complications. Something that would have been a lot harder to accept if you hadn’t helped me see it.” Tim shifted again, tapping out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel. “You really helped Damian too - they FaceTime every other day now, you know? He’s adapting to the changes and the way he needs to deal with Dick in order to do what’s best for their relationship. His behaviour has improved.”

“How can you tell, with the little demon?” Jason asked as he rubbed absently at his stump. So many lives had been fucked up by his actions that it didn’t feel like there were any amends he could make.

“I know right? But it’s noticeable. After the accident he was lashing out in general and provoking Bruce, trying to get a rise out of him. And he was working himself into exhaustion.”

“Like father like son, huh?”

“Yeah, big time. But since he and Dick have found a way to communicate properly, he seems to have mellowed again.” Tim made a rueful face, “Well, as mellow as demon spawn gets anyway.”

They drove the rest of the way in almost companionable silence while Jason mulled that over. It was no surprise Damian was taking things out on Bruce; after all, Jason had done the same in his time, when things hurt him in ways he couldn’t express properly.

He stared out the window. The morning was crisp and bright, and it didn’t seem right for the day to be full of singing birds and fragrant, fall leaves as his life fell apart again. It should be raining, or hailing, or maybe a tornado or something. Because, fuck, he was going to have to tell _everybody_. If he was going to at least try to make amends in some way, then he was going to have to start by letting people know what he was attempting to atone _for_. Now the process had been started, he realised he would not be able to live himself if he didn’t.

The dark of the parking garage in his building was almost a relief. After Tim pulled into a good spot near the elevator and turned off the engine, they both sat in the dim light for a moment – Jason attempting to figure out the best way to get out the car with out falling on his already battered face, and Tim thinking whatever Tim thoughts were knocking around in his big old brain. Maybe planning world domination, or maybe just steeling himself for whatever lay inside the apartment.

Just as Jason was getting ready to attempt his crutches, Tim broke the silence. “I guess that even though there is a part of me that’s angry and disappointed - and it is a pretty big part, I can’t pretend it isn’t - when it comes down to the line, I’ve gained as much as I’ve lost.” He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “I gained a brother in you and, although you are endlessly aggravating and make stupid choices, like, ninety percent of the time, that’s important to me. And I still have my family: Dick, Bruce, Cass and Damian, I suppose, even though he’s the worst little brother in the universe. And although Dick's lost so much in this mess – perhaps he has gained some things too.”

Jason's face was flushing and his heart was beating rapidly, like the wings of a trapped bird. He really didn’t deserve the gift Tim had just given him. It was worth more than any of the other things he had done for him over the past few months; more than the forgiveness, the reassurance. So _much_ more. Jason was good at stuff, he was useful in a fight, at planning ops and getting things done, and he understood Gotham’s underbelly better even than Batman, but Occasionally Useful had been all he was worth to his so-called family, and often not even that – too trigger happy, too brutal, too unpredictable.

But as a brother? It had only ever been a word, not a reality. They were brothers because of circumstance, not blood, or love, or any other tie other than Bruce and his mission. He and Dick had moved past the brother thing into different territory, sure, but what Tim was offering was just as important – it was _family_. It was overwhelming and Jason didn’t know what to say, what he could say he didn’t even know if Tim understood the significance of his words to Jason’s damaged sense of self.

So of course he didn’t say any of those things and instead cleared his throat roughly. “You going to do a Dick and start chucking out terrible cliches now?” he asked, voice still hoarse with emotion.

Thankfully, Tim did him a solid and ignored it, letting him keep the last shreds of his dignity.

“Sure. If I was a religious man, I would say ‘the Lord moves in mysterious ways’ but I’m not, so instead I’ll say that I think, with time and hard work, the both of you can be happy. Happier maybe than you both were before. Or you could just mope about and fuck each other up further.” He shrugged. “Up to you.” And with that, the little shit got out the car with all the ease of a two legged person and headed for the elevator.

Jason scowled and followed at a much slower pace, feeling strangely grateful for Tim's parting shot. They were still on shaky ground, but he felt better nonetheless.

 

The apartment was a mess. Actually, mess was not quite the right word to describe what looked like the aftermath of a tornado of Biblical proportions.

“Well someone’s been venting,” Jason said, not surprised at the state of all of his stuff but quite sad to see some of his possessions mangled beyond repair.

“Goddamn, _clunk fizz_ ,” PB said miserably and, in Jason's opinion, with an under tone of accusation. The parrot started a slow descent, claw over claw, from Jason's shoulder and down his back. Jason was distantly surprised that the creepy feel of the birds freaky-looking feet clutching at his clothes was no longer unpleasant.

“I suppose we should check on Dick,” was Tim's only comment as he started picking his way through the shards of broken glass that might have once been Jason's 72” TV.

Jason followed slowly – he wasn’t used to the crutches and he really didn’t want to land face first in a pile of glass, and as he maneuvered through the chaos he whistled for PB. He didn’t want the bird to cut his feet, but PB ignored him and hopped deftly through the mess towards the kitchen.

Dick was slumped against the open fridge, a half eaten strawberry yogurt clutched in one limp hand and a mostly empty bottle of scotch in the other. Thankfully, much of the whisky seemed to be on Dick and the floor, so at he was probably only drunk and not suffering from alcohol poisoning.

PB scuttled forward to investigate and stuck out his tongue to taste first the yogurt and then the scotch.

“Get the bird in his cage, Tim. I’m not dealing with a drunk parrot on top of the past twenty-four hours.”

Tim grimaced and bent hesitantly to attempt reach for PB - and then jumped back as the sharp beak snapped at him fearsomely.

“I’m not losing a finger to it!” Tim said, shrilly. “ _You_ pick it up!” He pointed the aforementioned finger at PB, but then hid it behind his back as the parrots beady eyes fixed on it with clear intent.

Jason huffed. The kid had been out on the streets pummelling bad guys since the onset of puberty, but one grumpy bird and he was shrieking like a four year old. “Which hand should I pick it up with, genius?” He attempted to draw attention to the fact he was currently using his hands to hold the crutches and nearly slipped. “Fuck!”

“Fine,” Tim said, still eyeing PB like he was going to suddenly remember how to fly and rip his head off. Being a smart boy, Tim found another way and instead of risking any limbs he fetched some parrot snacks and toys to tempt the bird away.

Jason stared at Dick’s slumped form. He didn’t think he could actually feel any more shit than he already did, but was still unsurprised when there was another deep twist of regret in his gut. Dick was a good person and didn’t deserve all the crap Jason had put him though. If he wanted Jason to leave then he would, he wasn’t going to case any more harm – but if Dick gave even the slightest hint he wanted him to stay despite all he had done, he would happily spend a lifetime making it up to him. Or trying to at least. God that might be the sappiest thing he had ever thought. Or at least it would have been, if the past few months hadn’t happened. As it was half of the stupid thoughts that passed through his brain these days seemed to consist of self pity or mushy feelings about his dumb family.

Thinking of family made him think of Tim and how grateful he was, which also served to piss him off, finally letting in the anger he had desperately tried to substitute for his feelings of sadness and emotional confusion. Because without Tim pushing him to tell Dick before he was ready this mess would have been one for another day, and not something he had to deal with right now.

The comforting familiar feeling of irritation and resentment relaxed him slightly as he waited hopefully for parrot/Tim warfare to erupt in the living-room.

He was disappointed though, because although Tim had failed to get the canny parrot into his cage, he had managed to get him distracted enough he was no longer in danger of consuming spilt scotch, instead he hunched on the back of the sofa gnawing on what looked suspiciously like an iphone.

Tim came back into the kitchen and eyed Dick’s slumped form. His next task was going to have to be single handedly getting Dick from the kitchen to the sofa. Jason, unable to do more than sit and watch, left him to it and took a seat on the arm of the easy chair – one of the few places free of glass and the other miscellaneous fruits of Dick's rage.

After a few false starts Tim managed to haul Dick more or less to his feet. Dick groaned and didn’t open his eyes, but he was taking a little of his own weight. Jason snorted when Tim staggered, nearly dumping them both on the floor.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Tim said, attempting to get Dick to move under his own power with little success.

Jason rather vindictively hoped Dick puked on him. “Shall I cheer you on from the sidelines?” He asked.

“I think,” Tim huffed, now attempting to take most of Dick’s weight as he maneuvered him around the debris littering the floor, “I think, we should put him on the sofa for now. That way I can keep an eye on him while you catch a nap, then we can swap.”

“And then what?” Jason was just so fucking tired. Tired physically, and emotionally. Tired of his own mercurial emotions, that were sending him from anger to grief to gratitude and then right back to anger.

Tim chose to ignore his yo-yoing attitude – something he did with ease, and Jason was forced to wonder if he had always seemed this way to his family and had just been lacking the self awareness.

Tim grunted as he heaved Dick the last few feet to the sofa. “Well at some point I’m going to have to go to work, so maybe you can call someone to take over? Roy maybe?” he said.

“Roy is a bad idea – he and Dick communicate by squabbling, often violently, but as soon as he finds out the reason he’s babysitting he’ll attempt to beat me to a pulp, and I draw the line at the indignity of getting a whipping from Harper so I’ll have to shoot him, and then Dick will whine about it forever.”

“Okay, not Roy then.” Tim said with infinite patience as he pushed Dick down on the couch with an expression of profound relief. Possibly due to the weight of his brothers semi-conscious body or, equally likely, because Dick always stank like a bar room floor after a drinking session.

“But,” Tim continued as he brushed the remains of Jason's ipad off a chair and sat, “you have to call someone. I really do have to work.”

“You’re sixteen, Tim. Why the fuck do you have to go to work?”

Tim shrugged. “Dick was the one who was supposed to get into the business, but he was completely disinterested, so I did it.”

“And now Bruce should be doing it.”

“He does. I _enjoy_ working at Wayne Enterprises.”

“Of course you do, you Machiavellian shit.”

Tim grinned at him, showing far too many teeth and, Jason suspected, a shade of his true evil nature.

“Go to bed, Jason. I’ll wake you up in four hours when I have to go. My first meeting is at three and I will need to go clean up first.”

“Thanks.” And he meant it.

 

When Jason woke, it was dark. Tim had let him sleep – or possibly Dick had killed him in a violent rage and he had been unable to wake Jason at the allotted hour. The possibility was not as remote as it had once been, and he was fully awake in moments and ready to go check. Or perhaps not quite fully awake as he spent a few fruitless minutes hunting for the prosthetics he no longer had. Infuriating and embarrassing.

Finally he made it out of bed, and discovered there was a note pinned to the door with some sort of novelty Batarang. Cute.

_Jason,_

_I let you sleep on, as Dick woke before I left and was coherent enough that I have no issues leaving him. We spoke for a while - he is still extremely pissed, but seems to have calmed down somewhat. Or that could have been the hangover. I told him to sleep it off, and informed him you were in your room. He promised to only murder you while you were conscious, so I think it should be fine._

_He has taken the crazy parrot to bed with him, in case you were wondering where it was._

_I didn’t bother to clean up, because you deserve some added pain – but I did order some food and essentials so don’t shoot the delivery guy (I used your account and your security is useless)._

_Will touch base later over the Bruce thing,_

_T_

Ugh the Bruce thing. That was going to suck no matter what they did. Jason opened the door to his room anyway, just as a precaution in case Dick had surfaced or PB had escaped from his clutches. The living room was still very much the same as it had been earlier in the day – sad, miserable chaos. His mildly chewed phone was still on the arm of the chair where he had left it, and it was blinking an ominous green light. He never used to get an adrenaline spike followed by cold dread when he realised he had messages. He did now though. Reluctantly he hobbled over and picked it up. Eleven missed calls from Tim, three voicemails. Jason's stomach dropped further – he almost didn’t want to know – surely he could just leave his phone and run away. Baghdad was pretty nice this time of year.

He played the messages. The first was Tim, urgent but calm: _Jason, Bruce is back – he arrived this afternoon. He will almost certainly head out tonight but I will try and find something else to occupy him to give you some time. Call me when you get this._

The second message was also from Tim, but less calm:

_He went out, and came back an hour later. He is pissed. I would be careful if I were you – not hundred percent what’s riling him but it might be you. Call me_

Jason shut his eyes as the third message began to play – he didn’t want to fucking know, but forewarned was also forearmed.

_Yeah, it's you. He’s on his way. Incidentally, I’ve been grounded for the rest of my natural lifespan, which I don’t appreciate. Damian is out with Steph, so that’s one thing less to worry about. Good luck. See you some time in the next decade, if you survive._

Oh good. That was just what he wanted to hear.

While he waited for panic to set in, he wondered if Tim had been reprimanded for aiding and abetting, withholding evidence, or some other mortal sin. Either way, Jason definitely owed him big time.

_If_ he survived, obviously.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Burkesl17 for the beta!

 

Jason spent a few long moments standing stock still in the ruins of his living-room. He was completely emotionally unprepared for this confrontation; he had no idea what he wanted to say – what he could  _ say _ . He was exhausted in every possible way, the small boost he had felt from uninterrupted sleep had evaporated, to be replaced with a sickening bubble of adrenalin sitting in his gut. And to top it off, he was poorly balanced on a pair of crappy-ass crutches. On the upside, at least the house was already mostly destroyed, so no need to worry on that account. 

Of course Bruce would turn up as Batman, and in typical Batman fashion, he just seemed to materialise from thin air. Stepping out of the shadows of Jason's own bedroom while Jason still stood in the living room clutching his phone and leaning heavily on his crutches.  The fact it was his bedroom just added insult to injury. If he came out of this confrontation in one piece he was going to have to look into better security. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Bruce said, by way of greeting. His gravely voice all Bat and all business. Just the tone was enough to straighten Jason's spine. He hated it, the quiet rage. 

When he had been Robin, he had seen Bruce mad, seen him scornful and harsh – but Batman never struck him in anger. They spared, and he didn’t always hold back, and  Jason felt those punches like he was meant to. Because the bad guys wouldn’t be pulling their punches just because he was a kid. He had never feared Bruce's anger in a physical sense, but he had feared his disappointment, his disapproval and his disinterest. It galled him to know that even after everything, the same was still true.

“I was going to tell you,” Jason said at last, opting for a vague sense of honesty. He was already stripped bare. And there was likely nothing he could say that would stop this from reaching its inevitable conclusion.

“Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, really! I just didn’t know how. How do you say something like that?” 

“That’s never been an issue for you in the past.” 

Batman flowed towards him, cape moving sinuously behind him. His jaw was clenched with rage. Jason suspected it would only take a nudge or two to push him over into violence. Like father like son. Tim was the only one of them he had never seen lose his shit and start swinging his fists when pushed. The girls at least seemed to have more control over their uglier emotions – well, Babs had bashed him on the head a time or two, but that was fairly controlled bursts of irritation rather than the irrational fury Dick, Bruce and Jason himself seemed to fall into. Not to mention Damian, who was shaping up to be a real chip off the old block too. 

There was a time, when pushing Bruce to that limit was the highlight of Jason’s week. When he had first come back, having Bruce’s attention and causing him to lose control was the only thing that made the chaos in his mind ease. It had been easy to do – he just had to go after the family. Tim had been easy, Dick more challenging in a fight, Jason could admit that he rarely won when going toe to toe with him – but it had riled Bruce to unreasonable levels. 

He had wanted the violence, the quiet fury, because even back then, the truth was, words hurt more than fists. And when it came verbal warfare, Bruce was an expert at landing precise and debilitating blows. Jason suspected he was going to get a taste of that tonight. 

“You surprise me, Jason. You never seemed like a person to enjoy charity, you certainly didn’t as a child. But here you are, living off my dime, enjoying the best rehabilitative care money can buy, when you are the one who caused your disability in the first place.”

Now that hurt. Because he was right and yet so wrong at the same time, and Jason couldn't find the words to explain how he ended up here, living off Bruce. It wasn’t because he needed charity, it wasn’t even that he needed help, if he had to go it alone, he would. 

He was here because of Dick, and guilt and despair. 

And love, somewhere under the mess, that was at the heart of what kept him here.

Jason was aware that he had a tendency to lash out when he felt cornered, when he felt attacked. And he could pretty much give as good as he got. But he barely had it in him today. “You’re a piece of work, Bruce,” he managed at last. “You act all holier than thou with me, but there's such  _ spite _ in you. You know how to make your words really sting.” He laughed, and it sounded on the edge of madness. “Must be where Dickiebird gets it from, two peas in a fucked up hateful pod.”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ talk about him,” Bruce growled, advancing. His boots crunched in the broken glass like t he precursor to a death knell. “You destroyed his life!”

“It was an accident!” Jason yelled back, he could feel his control slipping. He’d lost it in everything else in his life, why not himself, too? He teetered on the edge.

“It should never have happened!” Bruce said. 

Jason let go another bitter,  warbly laugh. “Yeah? Well there’s plenty that should never have happened. I’m a walking talking example of that!”

“Yes, you are.” 

God he just wanted Bruce to hit him and stop with the words, it was stunning how alike they were sometimes. He might mock the similarity between Dick and Bruce, but damn if he wasn’t the worst offender himself. 

And with that thought, came the rush of anger, soothing in its familiar intensity. This wasn’t even about Bruce, it was about Dick. “And where have you been, huh?” Jason said, his voice just a little too loud and wild. Despite everything he had done and despite everything Bruce had done for them – Jason realised he was mad at him. He didn’t deserve Bruce's respect after what he had done, sure. But Dick did, and Tim did. And Bruce had failed them. Again. “You talk about charity, but other than throwing money at us you haven’t done squat for Dick since he got hurt. He’s no use to you now he’s too broken to help in your crusade? What about Tim? Do you know how traumatised he was after the blast? He put you and your mission before Dick and himself, that’s fucked up!”

“You know nothing about Tim,” Bruce growled.

“I know nothing about Red Robin, I know plenty about Tim. You ever considered the impact of what happened on him? On Damian?” 

“If you hadn’t blown Dick up, it wouldn’t be an issue at all.”

“Yeah, but I  _ did _ , Bruce! That’s the thing. Do I regret it with every fibre of my being? Yeah. Would I do anything to fix it?” Jason's arm made an aborted gesture, almost letting go of the crutches and sending him flying. “I would give up my life in heartbeat if I could restore Dick to the way he was before. But I can’t, and done is done.” 

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily.  He wasn’t ready for this, for the fucking  _ pain _ of it. But that was nothing but the truth. And surprisingly, saying it steadied him, finally gave him a bit of control back. He had done a dumb, stupid and terrible thing. He couldn’t undo it. He had to accept that and do what he could from here.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Bruce, no, Batman was still there, still radiating icy fury. “There is nothing I can do to change what happened,” Jason said again. “All I can do is try to do what I can to make amends.”

“You can go to jail, Jason. For murdering that dealer. And for blowing up my son.”

Jason clenched his teeth, this was typical Bruce, he didn’t seem able to grasp it wasn’t about making amends to  _ him _ . “If that’s what  _ Dick _ wants. Then I’ll go, but I won’t on your say so.” 

“You  _ will _ ,” Bruce said. He was using his Bat voice, and that hurt, deep down. Jason didn’t want to have this discussion with an impersonal vigilante. 

“It’s not up to you, it’s about Dick and what he wants from me,” Jason said  _ again _ , because Bruce didn’t seem to be able to grasp the concept.  

“And the dealer who died in the explosion? They found his teeth embedded in the wall, Jason.”

“The building was fucking empty when I rigged it. He wasn’t supposed to be there any more than Dick was,” Jason shrugged. Honesty probably wasn’t the best policy in this case, but Jason had literally run out of fucks to give. “To be perfectly honest, Bruce I really couldn’t give a crap about him. He was a forgettable waste of oxygen.” 

“You sound like a sociopath, with such a flagrant disregard for life,” Bruce shot back.

“Well it takes one to know one, B. If we’re laying on the blame, how about you, huh? Would I be like this if you hadn’t trained me to fight on the streets as a kid? Put me into the path of real sickos like the Joker? Would Dick be in the other room with his brain scrambled all to hell if you hadn’t stuck him in the short pants before he even hit double digits? Who's really the fucked up psycho out of the two of us?”Jason all but shouted. He took a step forward, so caught up in his rage he could barely even see straight. 

Bruce shoved him back, a blow that in other circumstances wouldn’t have even rocked him on his heels, but unbalanced and precarious on his crutches, the force of it sent Jason toppling backwards onto his ass. He broke his fall slightly with an elbow and a flailing hand, cutting both in the shattered glass littering the floor. 

Jason could feel humiliation burning his cheeks as he attempted to shove himself into a better position, cutting his palm further. Bruce was looking down at him, his face inscrutable behind the cowl. They both seemed too shocked by Jason's fall to know what to say or do. 

Before either had a chance to rally and start throwing out further venom or punches, Dick dashed into the room and barrelled bodily into Bruce; the uncoordinated impact pushing him back a few steps making his boots grind against the glass on the floor alarmingly. 

Taken by surprise, Bruce just seemed to stop himself before lashing out, a good thing in Jason's opinion or he would have to drag himself over there and punch his knees. Or shoot him, with the pistol that was strapped to the underside of the sofa. 

“Leave him alone!” Dick yelled at Bruce. His face was a little puffy and his eyes were red. Jason couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been listening.

“Dick,” Bruce said, somewhat at a loss. “Do you know what he did?”

Dick nodded, sniffing wetly. “Yeah, he told me. He’s an asshole.” He stepped forward and shoved at Bruce again, although it lacked any force. “But that doesn’t mean you get to come in here and hit him. I already did, which I shouldn’t have done.” He clutched his hair, one of his very obvious signs of distress.

Jason could see the tension in Bruce's jaw, the sadness in the set of his mouth – he wanted to comfort Dick, that much was obvious, but he didn’t know how. Jason suddenly felt exhausted, tired and sad. He gave up trying to get his crutches and resigned himself to bleeding on the floor. 

During the lull in the shouting, PB took the opportunity to emerge from Dick's room and scuttled across the floor into Jason's arms. He held it carefully, trying to avoid getting blood on its plumage. 

“ _ Clunk fizz, _ ” PB said.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed absently while he pet it with his undamaged hand. 

Dick stepped forward again. “Take off the cowl,” he demanded, drawing in a deep breath. “If you want to talk to him, or me about this stuff you doing as Bruce, not Batman.”

Bruce hesitated, but finally did as Dick asked, and pulled off the mask. His bare face looked more vulnerable, the lines of tension clear to see along with the maelstrom of emotion held in check behind his gaze. 

Dick let out a soft, pained noise and threw himself into Bruce's arms, the impact staggered him again slightly, but he folded Dick into a hug that looked almost painful in its intensity. 

“Dick,” Bruce said, his voice was full of emotion and confusion.

“Don’t put Jason in jail,” Dick said, proving that he had been listening for some time before exploding out of his room. His voice was muffled against Bruce's broad chest. Surrounded by Bruce’s impressive bulk he looked deceptively small in his superman sleep pants and one of Jason's old t-shirts.

“He deserves it,” Bruce rumbled, but the venom had gone out of his tone. He sounded exhausted too.

“Yeah he does,” Dick said, “and so do you. Me too. We all break the law. I know what he did was wrong, and a man died, but people have died because of our actions too – even if we didn’t mean it to happen.”

“It’s not quite the same, Dick. And what he did to you...” he trailed off. 

“I know, I know what he did. And am fucking furious about it. But he told me, and that means a lot.”

“But-”

“ _ I _ deserve to go to jail, Bruce!” Dick burst out, flailing his arms. “I punched him because he ate my yogurt, I smashed a glass over his head because he changed over the channel and I beat him up with his own leg and threw it out the window.”

“You, what?” Bruce sounded honestly baffled. 

“I beat him up with his own leg and threw it out he window. That’s why his face is all messed up and he’s on crutches.”

Bruce was looking at Dick in bewilderment, but there seemed to have been a shift in the atmosphere, it was still highly charged but it had lost the edge of insane fury of before, so Jason risked entering the conversation. “I deserved it, Dick,” he said.

“No!” Dick said forcefully, and then shrugged. “I mean, yes, you did, but deserving it and getting it are different. It’s domestic violence and I  _ should _ be in jail. If I was anyone else, I would be, you would have seen to it.” That was directed at Bruce.

Bruce looked a little stumped; because Dick was clearly right, but also the circumstances were so complicated, it was hard to lay blame, or decide what the right course of action was. 

But hey, at least Jason wasn’t going to jail, and Bruce didn’t seem like he was going to pummel him into the floor any more, Jason was getting a little tired of getting beat up. 

Bruce seemed to be pondering, maybe reassessing now his fury had cooled. Jason and PB remained quietly on the floor, waiting to see how the dice landed. 

“What do you want to do, Dick?” Bruce asked finally. “Things can’t stay like this, do you want me to move you somewhere else?” Back home to the manor was left unsaid. 

“No, I want to stay here with Jason. But I need more help, to control my anger.”

“Why, Dick? After what he did? I know you’ve grown close, but surely the truth of what happened changes things?” To give Bruce credit, at least he was trying to understand Dick’s reasoning and not just vetoing on principal. 

“No, I can forgive him, I think. Because it was an accident, and because I love him,” Dick said, after a moment's thought.

Jason was momentarily overwhelmed by the double whammy of the possibility that Dick might forgive him, and that he would just casually confess to being in love with him. Jason was under no illusions that wasn’t what he meant. It was slightly mind boggling. 

But along with the rush of relief, affection and euphoria that was still tinged with guilt, came a sudden feeling of intense trepidation.

“I know you do,” Bruce said awkwardly.

And for one blissful moment, Jason allowed himself to believe that he knew the truth and he actually meant that. But reality was never that kind.  And nor was Bruce.

“He will still be your brother even with some distance, it might be good for you both.” Bruce said, he was right of course, it would be good for Dick to have some space, to work on controlling his emotions and to figure out if his affection could actually survive the truth of what Jason had done. 

“No, I don’t want distance, I love him. I want to be with him romantically,” Dick said as he looked up at Bruce, who in turn looked flummoxed.  “I want to have sex with him,” Dick clarified, just in case he hadn’t fully got his message across.

There was a moment of silence, as Bruce digested that. And Jason took the opportunity to lay down fully, his head resting on a partially shredded copy of Guns and Ammo. PB climbed onto his face and peered at him with concern. But Jason just shut his eyes and waited for death. 

“What, are you talking about?” Bruce said, and if his voice had been cold fury before, now it was practically glacial.

“We’re in a relationship,” Dick pressed on, oblivious or uncaring of the imminent explosion. 

“You are in a relationship. A  _ sexual _ relationship?” From the sound of his voice, Jason suspected Bruce was a hair’s breadth away from apoplexy. 

“Sort of. Well, it would be, but Jason's impotent.”

“Oh my fucking  _ God _ ,” Jason said, now praying for death rather than just waiting for it. “Is there anyone you haven’t mentioned that too? The mailman? Ms Singh from number 29? Mr. Harris form the neighbourhood association, maybe?” 

“I haven’t been to the NA since they bared PB for calling Mr Wells a fuckbiscket.” Dick shot back, hotly. “But Ms Singh suggested Saw Palmetto and cumin as possible natural remedies.” 

“ _ Why _ , Dick?” Jason said, everything about today was too fucking much.

“Because you love curry, and I’m terrible at cooking it, and Ms Singh is lonely and is giving me lessons in exchange for hanging out with PB and me when you’re at physio,” Dick said, defensively.

Despite the situation, Jason was kind of touched by that. 

There was a crunching noise and Bruce moved stiffly towards a chair and sat. “This is completely unacceptable,” he said, no longer with the same cold fury, but with a certain about of bewilderment.

“Well, tough,” Dick said. “I wasn’t asking your permission. And we can’t break up, what would happen to PB? We would have to share custody of him, and I don’t think it would be good for him.”

Bruce sat and stared at Dick, who had his arms crossed and a stubborn cast to his face. 

It was just too damn much and Jason started to laugh. He laughed so long and hard, when the tears started flowing he could hardly tell the difference. 

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the wonderful comments, kudos and support over the course of this fic - I've been incredibly grateful for all of them! 
> 
> And a huge thank you to Brukesl17 for the betaing through my Dyslexic nonsense.

  
  
  


Jason couldn't recall the exact sequence of events that lead to him being back in the Manor. Back in the bed that he had spent his early teens in, whacking off to the thought of being Robin and tearing a swath through the Gotham underworld. He would have objected if he had been in his right mind, but he had been to distraught to focus long enough to stop Bruce and Alfred loading them all into the car. So, here he was. 

He had slept for an hour or two, completely wrung out by the events of the past few days. When he woke, it was with a clearer head, and in many ways, a lighter heart. It was all out in the open now – he just had to weather the consequences, but the crippling guilt no longer felt like it was going to burst out of him in some sort of toxic explosion. It was progress.  

He sat up in bed to find Bruce sitting across the room. 

A great start. 

Bruce was stony faced, but beside him was Jason's new prosthetic. That was surprising. B was far too used to fighting his battles tooth and nail to offer up a potential tool to an enemy. That meant it might be some form of peace offering. If that was the case, it was possible that if he could control his temper and if Bruce would just listen to him without making snap judgements or agree to disagree on a few things, then they might be able to come out of this mess with the possibility of at least having a civil relationship. Something Jason wanted for Dick and Tim’s sake, as well as his own.

“Jason,” Bruce rumbled.

Jason pushed himself up against the headboard in response to that tone of voice, he just couldn’t help himself. 

“I understand that the trauma you and Dick both shared has forged a tight bond between you, and that is partly my fault for leaving you both to deal with the situation alone. I should have offered you more support. I plan to rectify that now. But the relationship has to end, it’s unbalanced and unhealthy.”

Jason has been expecting the attack, when it came, to be about the bomb, not he and Dick’s relationship. He may have got his hopes up a little early. Jason sighed, loudly and with all the frustration and tiredness he felt. “Bruce, I’m going to say this as politely as possible, and I’m going to use small words so that you understand: It’s none of your damn business, so back  _ off _ .”

Bruce's brows drew down, and his jaw took on the same stubborn set that Dick's did when he was going to behave insufferably.

“It’s not up to you, it’s up to Dick,” Jason tired again. “He’s the one calling the shots right now. He was the one that instigated this, I spent a great deal of time trying to rebuff him, even though I didn’t really want to, I know it’s a bad idea. I know it's fucked up and weird, but it’s come to a point that I don’t give a crap. He wants to be with me for some God forsaken reason? Then I’m all in. If he wants me to leave and never come back, he has more than earned the right to expect that of me and I will do it.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought. He wasn’t sure if he was even convincing himself, but it  _ was _ true.“Go interrogate Dick if you don’t believe me.”

Bruce made a tiny facial expression that Jason translated as discomfort. 

“Goddamn it, old man. If you’re going to attempt more input into Dick's well-being you’re going to have to get over the sex thing. I know It’s not what any parent wants to deal with, but Dick’s not particularly subtle with his sexuality any more. He’s said things about people that I wish I could wipe from my memory, but you just have to learn how to deal with it. You  _ have _ to, Bruce.”

“What people?” Bruce asked dubiously, and in Jason’s opinion, foolishly.

“Shall I start with Talia and move smoothly through to Slade Wilson? Not enough brain bleach in the world for that one.”

Bruce made another tiny facial expression. Horror, maybe disgust, Jason decided this time. 

“Yeah. It’s gross, but it’s just part of who he is. We all have those nasty thoughts, it’s just his follow through and come out his mouth.” 

There was a new expression on Bruce's face, but Jason couldn’t quite identify it. He shifted awkwardly and wished he didn’t have to have these kind of discussions when he was in his underwear in bed, it made him feel vulnerable. 

Bruce leaned forward a fraction of an inch and steepled his fingers together “So, Jason,” he said, voice even, like the uncomfortable conversation they had just shared had happened in some alternate dimension. “What do  _ you _ suggest Dick needs?” 

This was a test. Bruce was clearly waiting to trap him in some way. But Jason was so over jumping through hoops for people. And he was kind of done with lying, even through omission. The past six months had more than taught him how toxic that shit could be. So the truth it was.

“What Dick  _ needs _ , Bruce, first and foremost is his family, his friends and community. Hell, despite his very obvious problems with verbal diarrhoea, he’s still somehow making friends. Ms Singh from number 29 barely speaks English but they still manage to hang out. He even charmed her over-protective grandson into parrot sitting once. Did you know Dick speaks passable Urdu? Apparently it’s similar enough to Hindi to communicate.”

Bruce smiled slightly, a tiny twitch of his lips, “He has always had a head for languages.”

“It’s a very Dick thing to be good at,” Jason felt his own lips curve up into a wry smile.

“So you’re suggesting I spend more down time with him?”

“Yeah, but not too much. You know you’ll just fight like you always do. But he needs more than your company, he needs you to be open with him. Show you love him, but tell him too. You remember that time you came over after the vet stabbing incident and he told you he loved you?”

“I do. I didn’t realise you had heard that conversation.”

“I was flat out on the sofa, I heard it all. Anyway, when we spoke after and he was confused because he thought he told you that he loved you all time. That disconnect was disturbing to him. He needs to know that expressing himself is okay, he needs to know where his boundaries are and he needs to know that people still love him, even when he says Slade Wilson is the hottest villain he knows. Which is wrong on so many levels it’s nearly a disowning offence.”

While he watched Bruce struggle through another small facial tic of horror, it occurred to Jason that this could be the thing that finally mended the rift between Dick and Bruce, the one that had been there before Jason had come into the picture and put on the pixie boots. The love between them was obvious and strong, despite their tendency to come to blows over the simplest of things. It was the source of so much of Jason's jealousy when he was younger, and if he was honest with himself, now too. Maybe Tim was onto something when he said they had gained as well as lost. 

Bruce remained silent, he seemed to be digesting Jason’s words rather than tearing into him for speaking his mind, so he figured he could push his luck a little. “On top of that, he needs proper help, his wild emotions and violent responses hurt him more than they ever hurt me. He needs to feel in control of his actions again. I know a little something about that myself,” he admitted ruefully. 

Bruce was staring at him, another one of those inscrutable expressions on his face. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“Of course I fucking do! That’s the whole point, Bruce!”

“Be that as it may, my opinion about your relationship hasn’t changed, Jason. I think it’s unhealthy and morally ambiguous at best.”

“You’re going to lecture me about moral ambiguity?  _ You _ ? Who has been banging Catwoman, and  _ Talia Al Ghul  _ for fucksake? And God knows who else, you do seem to have a thing for the villains. And it seems to have rubbed off on Dick some, what with his currant weird fixation with Deathstroke. It’s no surprise that he’s latched onto me too.”’

Bruce was scowling at him, but then seemed to get his emotions in check. He drew in a tired sounding breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not because you’re a ‘villain,’ Jason, although all our lives would be easier if you stopped killing people. My life would be much less morally conflicted if you did.”

“Because you want to put me in jail?”

“Because the law is for everyone. And yes,” Bruce held up a hand to stop Jason's retort. “Yes, I know we also break the law, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. I don’t want you to go to jail, but if you murder people in cold blood, then I am obligated to put you there.” 

“But now you won’t because it will piss Dick off, and you wouldn’t want that.”

“Talking with you is an exercise in frustration.” 

Jason was kind of impressed that he could still make Bruce get the particular look of aggravation on his face. Alfred and Dick used to refer to it as the ‘Jay special.’ 

Bruce drew in another calming breath and continued in a surprisingly measured tone. “Even so, that was not the point I was going to make. It’s not about your status as a ‘criminal.’”

Jason could hear the quote marks and it made him seethe. But he miraculously managed to hold his tongue.

Bruce leant forward again, face serious. “It’s because A. Dick is your adopted brother, and that doesn't sit well with me, and won’t sit well with the rest of the League or anyone else. And B. he has brain damage. I'm not sure how much he can consent to this. I don’t think it would have happened at all if he hadn’t been injured.”

Jason sat straighter and placed his foot on the floor, covering his stump with the blanket. “Okay, let’s start with point A, before I ream you the fuck out over point B.”

Bruce mirrored Jason's position. A challenge, the prick. Jason wanted nothing more than to go to to toe with him, but he could hardly do that when he couldn’t stand unaided and his prosthetic was the other side of the room. 

“If Dick was banging Tim, or Cass, that would be one thing. But me? We spent time together before I died, sure, but it wasn’t brotherly, it might have become that, if things had been different, but that wasn’t the way the dice fell. It’s more like if two overly competitive childhood friends hooked up. And we didn't even spend that much time together out of uniform, you made damn sure of that by constantly comparing us. You made me feel inferior, so I resented him. You made him feel like he was being replaced as your son as well as Robin so he resented me. That was fucking shit, B, you fucked us over good.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but Jason waved him off, he was warming to his rant now. “And I don’t give a fuck what you or the League or the papers think about it. Jason Todd, adopted son of Bruce Wayne,  _ died _ . I don’t have a legal name any more, not one that’s actually mine. And you didn’t even adopt Dick until he was twenty! So in the eyes of the law,  we ain't even related.”

He sat back to watch Bruce sort through that. Disappointingly, he was keeping his face tightly controlled, with none of his usual tells on display.

“And the second issue?” Bruce asked, after a moment.

Jason held back the smug smile that wanted to creep onto his face. He had so won that round.  “Are you going to ban Dick from having relationships or sex of any kind?”

Bruce looked vaguely constipated, his eyes narrowing  with realisation of where this was going to go, but he said nothing, so Jason continued, “Just because he has brain damage, doesn't mean he’s not a person who has needs and wants. And what he really wants, is much the same as it has always been – a strong and sappy romantic relationship – and sex has always been a part of that for him. You can’t deny him that. You didn’t like Kory, but you couldn't stop him having a relationship with her. And you can’t choose for him now, either. He’s not a drooling vegetable, he can make his own decisions, although they are often impulsive and stupid, to be fair.”

Bruce digested that for a moment, while Jason resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. He wished he had his prosthetic on, he felt vulnerable without it. 

“You’ve changed, Jason,” Bruce said at last.

Jason scoffed. “No I haven’t, you’re just seeing me different.”

Bruce stood, and Jason tensed, but there was no threat in his posture or face, so he forced himself to relax slightly.

“That may be true, too. But you  _ have _ changed,” Bruce said, he picked up the prosthetic and lay it next to Jason's bed. 

“I haven't,” Jason said stubbornly. 

“You have.”

“Have not!” This was a game Bruce would play with him as a kid, when Jason was attempting to bullshit his way into doing something stupid, like going on patrol with stomach flu. It was bittersweet now.

Bruce's lips twitched again. “Well, maybe not completely. But you have grown, we would never have been able to have this conversation six months ago.”

“I’ve had a crash course in controlling my temper. It hardly counts as amazing personal growth.”

“You still can’t take a compliment.”

“You still haven't given me one.” 

Bruce sighed, but he still seemed amused. “Why must my family all be so stubborn?” he mused as he headed for the door.

“Karma,” Jason muttered, loudly.  Trying not to show his emotions on his face. 

“Well, be that as it may, consider this your compliment: Your insight into Dick’s needs and behaviour and your obvious… affection for him, does you a great deal of credit. Rest now. I will think on what you’ve said, and speak to Dick when he wakes up.”

“Okay,” Jason said, stupidly.  
  


 

Jason was left feeling conflicted. There was a measure of forgiveness there, but the anger was also still simmering. Neither of them had apologised for the hurtful words said before – which in Jason's opinion meant they were still out there, festering. And Bruce was never going to be okay with this relationship, that much was obvious. Jason could live with that, but could Dick? Would they even  _ be _ a relationship after the dust settled? 

Feeling suddenly anxious Jason slipped to edge of the bed and began putting on his new prosthetic. It was a perfect fit, and instantly made him feel more centred. So much so he didn't even panic when the door opened while he was still in his shorts, contemplating his new leg.

“Hey,” Tim said, pushing into the room without even a by your leave. He was carrying two steaming mugs in his hands though, so Jason was inclined to forgive him. 

“Earl Grey with milk, you heathen,” Tim said, handing over the cup of tea in his right hand and casually sitting in the chair Bruce had vacated. 

“Thanks.” Jason casually attempted to put his pants on, without looking like he was flustered. Tim just sipped his tea impassively. “I thought you were grounded?” Jason asked.

Tim shrugged. “He’s not the boss of me.”

“Yes he is, you breaking the rules to come see me?”

Tim sniffed. “It’s hardly breaking the rules if it’s still within the house I live in.  That went okay didn’t it?” He looked mildly smug.  

“You were watching,” Jason said flatly. Because of course he was.

“Surveillance is how we show love.” 

“Yeah? Well it’s creepy and weird.”

Tim just lifted a casual shoulder. “What now?”

Good question. Jason didn’t want to stay here and he didn’t want to be alone, alone he would start thinking about the things Bruce had said. Whether he was just lashing, out or if his words had come from the heart, didn’t matter, some of that shit had cut deep. “You missed the first show down,” Jason said, following his own line of thought. “It wasn’t so nice.”

“You know he probably didn’t mean anything awful he said. He loves you.”

“ _ Loved _ me. Young, starry-eyed me. Not the person I am now, not the fuck up screwing his favourite son. Or trying to anyway.”

Tim made a moue of distaste, but didn’t otherwise comment on the sex thing. “He finds you hard to deal with – hard to categorize. You make him feel very conflicted emotions so he responds aggressively. Dick does the same thing when he’s wound up. Even before the head injury it could be brutal.”

“Yeah, B didn’t like that comparison.”

“You do like to go the hard route don’t you?”

“Seems to be that way. Anyway, I guess I can’t do much except leave. I agree with Bruce when he suggests me and Dick spend some time apart. So I need to see if he wants the apartment. I have other places I can go.”

Tim’s brows drew down, and his mouth opened, to give some, no doubt infuriatingly good advice, when he was cut off by a screech from the hall.

“ _ Clunk fizz! _ ” That ear-splitting yell was followed up by some scuffling and a cry of, “Fucknugget!”

Tim and Jason looked at each other of a moment, before getting up and heading to the door. Jason opened it to find PB looking shifty and slightly ruffled. Behind him, the huge, hulking form of Titus was staring at him intently, his ears pricked forward and his head cocked curiously. 

“Motherfucker,” PB tried, eyeing Titus suspiciously.

Titus gave a soft,  _ ‘woof’ _ and wagged his tail.

“Made a friend, PB?” Jason asked, as the parrot sidled over and began climbing his pant leg. 

“Motherfucker,” PB said again.

“ _ Woof _ ,” Titus said.

“I think they're communicating,” Tim was still sipping his tea, and looked very amused. 

“Yeah, it’s like fucking Disney in here.” If PB was wandering the halls, where was Dick? There was never a freaking moment of downtime in Jason's life, what with Dick and the Parrot and his high maintenance family. “Do you think we need to mount a search party?” he asked. 

“No, Dick is with B, they probably left the door open. PB isn’t a big fan of his namesake, so maybe he slipped out to come and complain about it to you.”

“Is that what happened?” Jason asked the bird, looking into his beady eye as he perched on his shoulder. He belatedly realised he must sound like an idiot, asking a bird a question like he was expecting an answer. 

“Motherfucker,” PB told him, sullenly.

“ _ Woof _ !” Titus wagged his tail again. 

“Okay then,” Jason said. “I’m going the fuck back to bed.”

 

Jason next woke as the bed shifted beside him. A moment of panic was followed by recognition. 

“Hey, Dick.”

“Hey, Jay.” Dick reached out and ran gentle fingers over the bruises on Jason’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Jason closed his eyes, but otherwise remained still under the caressing touch. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And I have too much. I would give my life to take it back.”

“I know. I know you regret what happened. I just wished you would have told me sooner. And I wish I had better control of how I react to things. I can’t  _ stand _ this violence in me.”

“I deserved it.”

“Yeah, maybe you did, in theory. But not in practice. It’s the last thing in the world I want to do. I was mad enough I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“This time.”

Jason wanted to protest that, but there was truth in it. He could hold his own in a fight against Dick, he would probably lose, but he could defend himself. But if Dick had taken a gun out and threatened to shoot him, he would have  _ let _ him. And as ridiculously unlikely as that particular scenario was, the emotional clusterfuck behind it was dangerous, for both of them.

“I think it’s a good idea if I stay here for a while,” Dick said, quietly.

Jason was glad of the darkness in the room, he didn’t think he would be able to hide the pain on his face otherwise. “You can take the apartment,” he said, and he thought his voice sounded mostly impassive. 

“I don’t need it. Bruce is getting me some specialist help. Lots of it apparently, and time apart is a good idea. I need to process and learn to control my feelings more.”

“You can still have the apartment, though. It wouldn't feel right staying in it without you.” He didn’t think he could stand it, being there alone and knowing how he had fucked up their lives, how he had fucked up this stupid relationship, which was always destined to be a disaster. God, he felt like shit.  

Dick poked him on his bruised cheekbone. “Why do you sound so weird, do you have a cold coming on? Or did I break your nose? Anyway, you may as well stay, it has all your cripple gear already there, and that’s harder to move than my brain damage stuff.” 

Despite himself, and his regret and guilt and grief, Jason snorted with laughter. Cripple gear and brain-damage stuff? Such a  _ Dick _ thing to say, in both senses of the word. 

“And anyway,” Dick said, poking him again, “It won’t be forever, I can come visit, and I’ll move back eventually.”

That was unexpected and let in a flood of glorious hope. Confusion and hope were uncomfortable bedfellows and Jason reached out and grabbed Dick’s fingers “You’re coming back?”

“Er, yeah?”  Dick sounded perplexed. “That is, if you want me to?”

Jason leaned to the side and switched the bedside lamp on, blinking at Dick in the sudden light. “So you’re just staying here for therapy? You’re not actually breaking up with me? I kind of need you to clarify.”

“Break up with you? Over a bit of violence and being blown up? Nah.” Dick pushed at him, “Shove over, there’s room in here for two.” 

“Fucknugget.”

“Sorry, PB. Room in here for three.”

Jason sighed and shuffled over a bit, laying back and looking at the ceiling. It was the same as it had been when he was a kid. The whole room was kind of stuck in time. But everything else about the boy he had been had changed, was still changing. He wasn’t sure how he felt about those shifts yet. Dick pulled back the covers and let in all the chill air before clambering in beside him. PB walked across Jason’s face and over to Dick, who scooped him up and cuddled him like he was a fluffy kitten and not a half bald dinorat. 

“So no, I don’t want to break up with you, Jason.” Dick said, after a moment. “I just need a little distance to get my head on straight.” 

“Why wouldn’t you though?” Jason asked, baffled. “After everything?”

“Because I am totally and disgustingly in love with you, you dope.” 

“Oh,” Jason said. 

Dick snorted. “Oh he says,  _ oh _ . Romance is not your strong suit is it? Nor is sex really, I guess, but I’m sure we can work on it.”

“Yeah thanks for that, Dickface.”

“For what?” 

“Never mind. Bruce is going to have an aneurysm if he catches you in my bed tomorrow.”

“Don’t care.”

“You’re a rebel.”

Dick leaned over and kissed him on the nose. “I’m the original rebel wonder, don’t n ya know.” 

“I did it better.” Jason was aware there was a dopey smile on his face but he couldn’t seem to tramp it down. 

Dick waved an imperious hand above their heads. “You died, so it doesn’t count.” 

“Ass,”

“Cooter flooter.” 

“That’s still not a thing, Dick. Stop trying to make cooter flooter happen.”

“I can’t believe you’ve seen mean girls!” Dick said, delighted. 

Jason decided not to remind him that they had in fact watched it together, not that long ago. The occasional gaps in Dick’s memory still upset him and Jason didn’t want to ruin this moment.

Dick snuggled down and into Jason’s space, so they were sharing the pillow. Unlike the first few times it had happened, having Dick invade his personal bubble felt pleasant and something in his chest loosened a little. 

“I’m going to see the social worker tomorrow. Will you come too?” Dick asked. 

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Jason said, and he could hear the whine in his own voice. He hated that sanctimonious asshat. 

“Will you?”

“I guess, if I have to.” He would do whatever it took. But he didn’t have to  _ like _ it. 

“Because you love me too?”

“I guess, for my sins,” Jason sighed after a moment. God knows how it had happened, but he was kind of disgustingly, stupidly in love right back. 

“You say the sweetest things,” Dick said with a smile in his voice. 

“I know I do, I’m charming that way.” 

“Anything to add, PB?” Dick asked. “Do you love us too?”

PB seemed to think about that for a moment, then ruffled his feathers and settled down on the pillow. “ _ Woof _ ,” he said, decisively. 

Dick chuckled, the sound reverberating through Jason’s body, it felt good and he grinned into the darkness. He was missing a leg, and a working penis, but he had Dick and PB and Tim and some sort of semi truce with B. All things considered things were actually pretty awesome. There was still a long way to go, but he felt at peace and more hopeful than he probably had a right to be. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thats a wrap... mostly. I know some people are dying to know if Jason regains full use of his penis, so there is a follow up fic in the works (after this years Xmas exchange has been written.) Tentatively titled: 
> 
> 36 Times Jason and Dick Attempted to Have Sex (and mostly failed)
> 
> It will no doubt be very silly and contain gratuitous parrots. 
> 
> Thanks again! <3


End file.
